PR 



THE FATAL DOWRY 



BY 



PHILIP ^ MASSINGER AND 
NATHANIEL FIELD . 



CHARLES LACY LOCKERT, Jr. 




FKESENTEIl m^ 



THE FATAL DOWRY 



BY 



PHILIP MASSINGER AND 
NATHANIEL FIELD 



EDITED, FROM THE ORIGINAL QUARTO, 
WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 



A DISSERTATION 

presented to the 
Faculty of Princeton University 
IN Candidacy for the Degree 
OF Doctor of Philosophy 



BY 



CHARLES LACY LOCKERT, Jr. 

ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, KENTON COLLEGE 



PRESS OF 

THE NEW ERA PRINTING COMPANY 

LANCAliTER, PA. 

I918 






^^^6 <fc 



• \^^ 



Accepted by the Department of English, June, 1916 



Gift 






PREFACE 

This critical edition of The Fatal Dozvry was undertaken as 
a Thesis in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the de- 
gree of Ph.D. at Princeton University. It was compiled under 
the guidance and direction of Professor T. M. Parrott of that 
institution, and every page of it is indebted to him for suggestion, 
advice, and criticism. I can but inadequately indicate the scope 
of his painstaking and scholarly supervision, and can even less 
adequately express my appreciation of his ever-patient aid, which 
alone made this work possible. 

I desire also to acknowledge my debt to Professor J. Duncan 
Spaeth of Princeton University, for his valuable suggestions in 
regard to the presentation of my material, notably in the Intro- 
duction ; also to Professor T. W. Baldwin of Muskingum College 
and Mr. Henry Bowman, both of them then fellow graduate 
students of mine at Princeton, for assistance on several occasions 
in matters of special inquiry ; and to Dr. M. W. Tyler of the 
Princeton Department of History for directing me in clearing up 
a lego-historical point ; and finally to the libraries of Yale and 
Columbia Universities for their kind loan of needed books. 



INTRODUCTION 

In the Stationer's Register the following entry is recorded 
under the date of "30° Martij 1632:" 

CONSTABLE Entred for his copy vnder the hands of Sir 
HENRY HERBERT and master SMITHWICKE war- 
den a Tragedy called the ffatall Dozvry. Vj d. 

In the year 1632 was published a quarto volume whose title- 
page was inscribed: The Fatall Dozvry: a Tragedy: As it hath 
been often Acted at the Private House in Blackfriars, by his 
Majesties Servants. Written by P. M. and N. F. London, 
Printed by John Norton, for Francis Constable, and are to be 
sold at his shop at the Crane, in Pauls Churchyard. 1632. 

That the initials by which the authors are designated stand for 
PhiHp Massinger and Nathaniel Field is undoubted. 

Later Texts 

There is no other seventeenth century edition of The Fatal 
Dowry. It was included in various subsequent collections, as 
follows : 

I. The Works of Philip Massinger — edited by Thomas Coxeter, 

1759 — re-issued in 1761, with an introduction by T. Davies. 

II. The Dramatic Works of Philip Massinger — edited by John 

Monck Mason, 1779. 

III. The Plays of Philip Massinger — edited by William Gifford, 

1805. There was a revised second edition in 1813, which 
is still regarded as the Standard Massinger Text, and was 
followed in subsequent editions of Gifford. 

IV. Modern British Drama — edited by Sir Walter Scott, 181 1. 

The text of this reprint of The Fatal Dowry is Gifford's. 

V. Dramatic Works of Massinger and Ford — edited by Hartley 

Coleridge, 1840 {et seq.). This follows the text of Gifford. 

VI. The Plays of Philip Massinger. From the Text of William 

Gifford. With the Addition of the Tragedy Believe as 
You List. Edited by Francis Cunningham, 1867 {et seq.). 

1 



£> THE FATAL DOWRY 

The Fatal Donry in this edition, as in the preceding, is a 
mere reprint of the Second Edition of Gifford. 
VII. Philip Massing er. Selected Plays. (Mermaid Series.) 
Edited by Arthur Symons, 1887-9 {et seq.). 

In addition to the above, The Fatal Doivry appeared in The 
Plays of Philip Massinger, adapted for family reading and the 
use of young persons, by the omission of objectionable passages, 
— edited by Harness, 1830-1 ; and another expurgated version 
was printed in the Mirror of Taste and Dramatic Censor, 1810. 
Both of these are based on the text of Gifford. 

The edition of Coxeter is closest of all to the Quarto, follow- 
ing even many of its most palpable mistakes, and adding some 
blunders on its own account. Mason accepts practically all of 
Coxeter's corrections, and supplies a great many more variants 
himself, not all of which are very happy. Both these eighteenth 
century editors continually contract for the sake of securing 
a perfectly regular metre (e. g. : You're for You are, I, i, 139; 
th' honours for the honours, I, ii, 35; etc.), while Gifford's tend- 
ency is to give the full form for even the contractions of the 
Quarto, changing its 'em's to them's, etc. Gififord can scarce 
find words sharp enough to express his scorn for his predecessors 
in their lack of observance of the text of the Quarto, yet he him- 
self frequently repeats their gratuitous emendations when the 
original was a perfectly sure guide, and he has almost a mania 
for tampering with the Quarto on his own account. Symons' 
Mermaid text, while based essentially on that of Gifford, in a 
number of instances departs from it, sometimes to make further 
emendations, but more often to go back from those of Gifford to 
the version of the original, so that on the whole this is the best 
text yet published. 

There has been a German translation by the Graf von Baudis- 
son. under the title of Die Unselige Mitgift, in his Ben Jonson 
und seine Schule, Leipsig, 1836; and a French translation, in 
prose, under the title of La dot fatale by E. Lafond in Contem- 
porains de Shakespeare, Paris, 1864. 

Date 

The date of the composition or original production of The 
Fatal Dozvry is not known. The Quarto speaks of it as having 



INTRODUCTION 6 

been "often acted," so there is nothing to prevent our supposing that 
it came into existence many years before its pubHcation. It does 
not seem to have been entered in Sir Henry Herbert's Office 
Book.^ This would indicate its appearance to have been prior to 
Herbert's assumption of the duties of his office in August, 1623. 
In seeking a more precise date we can deal only in probabilities.^ 

1 Fleay (Chroii. Eng. Dra., I, 208) thinks that the otherwise lost Mas- 
singer play. The Judge, licensed by Herbert in 1627, and included in the 
list of Warburton's collection, may have been The Fatal Dowry. He 
declares, moreover, that " the decree in favor of creditors in I, ii a was 
a statute made in 1623," and suggests that Massinger after this date made 
over an independent play of Field's, now lost. But I think that any one 
who surveys in The Fatal Dowry the respective hands of its authors will 
incline strongly to the conviction that this drama is the offspring of joint 
effort rather than the re-handling of one man's work by another. The 
decree to which Fleay has reference appears to be that to be found in 
Statutes of the Realm, IV, ii, 1227-9, recorded as 21° Jac I, 19. This is 
an act passed by the parliament of 1623-4; it somewhat increases the 
stringency of the already-existing severe laws in regard to bankrupts, but 
contains nothing which even faintly suggests the decree in our play, by 
which the creditors are empowered to withhold the corpse of their debtor 
from burial; and, indeed, it is obviously impossible that a statute per- 
mitting any such practice could have been passed in Christian England 
of the seventeenth century. The fact is that this feature of the plot is 
taken direct from a classical author (see under Sources), and it would 
be gratuitous to assume in it a reference to contemporaneous legislation. 
As for the hypothesis that The Fatal Dowry and The Judge are the same 
play, in the utter absence of any supporting evidence it must be thrown 
out of court. This sort of identification is a confirmed vice with Fleay. 
The Judge is, moreover, listed as a comedy (see reprint of Warburton's 
list in Fleay's The Life and Work of Shakespeare, p. 358). 

~ Two other arguments — both fallacious — have been advanced for a 
more assured dating. 

Formal prologues and epilogues came into fashion about 1620, and the 
absence of such appendages in the case of The Fatal Dowry has been 
generally taken as evidence for its appearance before that year; but for 
a Massinger production no such inference can be drawn — there is no 
formal prologue or epilogue in any of his extant plays before The Emperor 
of the East and Believe as You List, which were licensed for acting in 
163 1. 

The suggestion (Fleay: Chron. Eng. Dra., I, p. 208) that Field took 
the part of Florimel, and that the mention of her age as thirty-two years 
(H, ii, 17) has reference to his own age at the time the play was pro- 
duced (thus fixing the date: 1619), is an idea so far-fetched and fantastic 
that it is amazing to find it quoted with perfect gravity by Ward (Hist. 



4 THE FATAL DOWRY 

The play having been produced by the King's Men, a company 
in which Field acted, it was most probably written during his 
association therewith. This was formed in 1616; the precise 
date of his retirement from the stage is not known. His name 
appears in the patent of March 27, 1619, just after the death of 
Burbage, and again and for the last time in a livery list for his 
Majesty's Servants, dated May 19, 1619. It is absent from the 
next grant for livery (1621) and from the actors' lists for various 
plays which are assigned to 1619 or 1620. We may therefore 
assume safely that his connection with the stage ended before the 
close of 1619. On the basis of probability, then, the field is nar- 
rowed to 1 61 6-1 9.' 

More or less presumptive evidence may be adduced for a yet 
more specific dating. During these years that Field acted with 
the King's Men, two plays appeared which bear strong internal 
evidence of being products of his collaboration with Massinger 
and Fletcher: The Knight of Malta and The Queen of Corinth. 
While several parallels of phraseology are afforded for TJie Fatal 
Dozvry by these (as, indeed, by every one of the works of Mas- 
singer) they are not nearly so numerous or so striking as simi- 
larities discoverable between it and certain other dramas of the 
Massinger corpus. With none does the connection seem so in- 
timate as with The Unnatural Combat. Both plays open with a 
scene in which a young suppliant for a father's cause is counseled, 
in passages irresistibly reminiscent of each other, to lay aside 
pride and modesty for the parent's sake, because not otherwise 
can justice be gained, and it is the custom of the age to sue for it 
shamelessly. Moreover, the offer by Beaufort and his associates 

Eng. Dra. Lit., Ill, 39). That Field, second only to Burbage among the 
actors of his time, should have played the petty role of Florimel is a 
ridiculous supposition. It is strange that anyone who considered refer- 
ences of this sort a legitimate clue did not build rather upon the statement 
(II, i, 13) that Charalois was twenty-eight. But such grounds for 
theorizing are utterly unsubstantial ; there is no earthly warrant for 
identifying the age of an author's creation with the age of the author 
himself. 

3 I would not, however, think it very improbable that Field might have 
engaged in the composition of The Fatal Dozvry immediately after his 
retirement, when the ties with his old profession were, perhaps, not yet 
altogether broken. 



INTRODUCTION O 

to Malefort of any boon he may desire as a recompense for his 
service, and his acceptance of it, correspond strikingly in both 
conduct and language with the conferring of a like favor upon 
Rochfort by the Court (I, ii, 258 f¥.) ; while the request which 
Malefort prefers, that his daughter be married to Beaufort Junior, 
and the language with which that young man acknowledges this 
meets his own dearest wish, bear a no less patent resemblance to 
the bestowal of Beaumelle upon Charalois (II, ii, 284-297). Now 
this last parallel is significant, because The Unnatural Combat is 
an unaided production of Massinger, while the analogue in The 
Fatal Dozvry occurs in a scene that is by the hand of Field. The 
similarity may, of course, be only an accident, but presumably it 
is not. Then did Field borrow from Massinger, or did Mas- 
singer from Field? The most plausible theory is that The Un- 
natural Combat was written immediately after The Fatal Dozvry, 
when Massinger's mind was so saturated with the contents of the 
tragedy just laid aside that he was liable to echo in the new drama 
the expressions and import of Hnes in the old, whether by himself 
or his collaborator. That at any rate the chronological relation- 
ship of the two plays is one of juxtaposition is further attested by 
the fact that in minor parallelisms,* too, to The Fatal Doiury, The 
Unnatural Combat is richer than any other work of Massinger. 
Unfortunately The Unnatural Combat is itself another play of 
whose date no more can be said with assurance than that it pre- 
ceeds the entry of Sir Henry Herbert into office in 1623, though 
its crude horrors, its ghost, etc., suggest moreover that it is its 
author's initial independent venture in the field of tragedy, his 
Titus Andronicus, an ill-advised attempt to produce something 
after the " grand manner " of half a generation back. Next in 
closeness to The Fatal Dowry among the works of Massinger as 
regards the number of its reminiscences of phraseology stands his 
share of The Virgin Martyr; next in closeness as regards the 

■* On a careful inspection of the entire dramatic output of Massinger, 
both unaided work and plays done in collaboration, I have found worthy of 
record parallels to passages in The Fatal Dowry to the number of : 24, in 
The Unnatural Combat, 14 in the Massinger share (about %) of The Virgin 
Martyr, 18 in The Rencgado, 11 in The Duke of Milan, 10 in The Guardian' 
and in none of the rest as many as 8. — But Massinger's undoubted share 
C/s) of The Little French Lawyer yields 6; 7.5 of The Double Marriage, 
6; ?5 of The Spanish Curate, 6; % of Sir John van Olden Bamavelt, 4 



b THE FATAL DOWRY 

strikingness of these parallels stands his share of The Little 
French Lazi'yer. These two plays can be dated circa 1620. 

To sum up : 

The Fatal Dowry appears to antedate the installation of Sir 
Henry Herbert in 1623. 

It was probably written while Field was with the King's Men ; 
with whom he became associated in 161 6, and whom he probably 
quitted in 1619. 

The indications point to its composition during the latter part 
of this three-year period (1616-19), for it yields more and 
closer parallels to The Virgin Martyr and The Little French 
Lazvyer, dated about 1620, than to The Knight of Malta and The 
Queen of Corinth, dated 1617-8, — closer, indeed, than to any 
work of Massinger save one, The Unnatural Combat, itself an 
undated but evidently early play, with which its relationship is 
clearly of the most intimate variety. 

The following (at best hazardously conjectural) scheme of 
sequence may be advanced : 

Fletcher and Massinger and Field together wrote The Knight 
of Malta and The Queen of Corinth — according to received 
theory, in 1617 or 1618. Thereafter, the last two collaborators 
(desirous, perhaps, of trying what they could do unaided and 
unshackled by the dominating association of the chief dramatist 
of the day) joined hands in the production of the tragedy which 
is the subject of our study. Then, upon Field's retirement, Mas- 
singer struck off, with The Unnatural Combat, into unassisted 
composition ; but we next find him, whether because he recognized 
the short-comings of this turgid play or for other reasons, again 
in double harness, at work upon The Virgin Martyr and The 
Little French Lazvyer. On this hypothesis. The Fatal Dozvry 
would be dated 161 8-9. 

Sources 

No source is known for the main plot of The Fatal Dozvry. A 
Spanish original has been suspected, but it has never come to 
light. The stress laid throughout the action on that peculiarly 
Spanish conception of "the point of honor" (see under Critical 



INTRODUCTION 7 

Estimate, in consideration of the character of Charalois) is un- 
questionably suggestive of the land south of the Pyrenees, and 
we have an echo of Don Quixote in the exclamation of Charalois 
(III, i, 441) : "Away, thou curious impertinent." The identifica- 
tion, however, of the situation at Aymer's house in IV, ii with a 
scene in Cervantes' El vie jo celoso (Obras Completas De Cer- 
vantes, Tomo XII, p. 277) is extremely fanciful. The only simi- 
larity consists in the circumstance that in both, while the husband 
is on the stage, the wife, who, unknown to him, entertains a lover 
in the next room, is heard speaking within. But this is a spon- 
taneous outcry on the part of Beaumelle, who does not suspect 
the proximity of her husband, and her discovery follows, and 
from this the denouement of the play ; whereas in Cervantes' 
entr ernes the wife deliberately calls in bravado to her niece, who 
is also on-stage, and boasts of her lover, — and the husband thinks 
this is in jest, and nothing comes of it but comedy. 

The theme of the son's redemption of his father's corpse by his 
own captivity is from the classical story of Cimon and Miltiades, 
as narrated by Valerius Maximus, De dictis factisque memorabil- 
ibus, etc. Lib. V, cap. III. De ingratis ^xternorum : Bene egissent 
Athenienses cum Miltiade, si eum post trecenta millia Persarum 
Marathone devicta, in exilium protinus ntisisscnt, ac non in car- 
cere et vincnlis mori coegissent; sed, ut puto, hactenus saevire 
adversus optinie meritnm ahunde dnxernnt: immo ne corpus qui- 
deni eins, sic expirare coacti scpidturae primus mandari passi 
sunt, quam filius eiiis Cimon eisdem vinculis se constrigendum 
traderet. Hanc hereditatem paternam maximi ducis filius, et fu- 
turus ipse aetatis suae dux maximus, solam se crevisse, catenas et 
carcerem, gloriari potuit. 

In the version of Cornelius Nepos (Vitae, Cimon I) Cimon is 
incarcerated against his will. 

The action of the play is given the historical setting of the later 
fifteenth century wars of Louis XI of France and Charles the 
Bold of Burgundy, although this background is extremely hazy. 
The hero's name is the title which Charles bore while heir-ap- 
parent to the Duchy of Burgundy ; mention is made of Charles 
himself ^***The warlike Charloyes," I, ii, 171), to Louis ("the 
subtill Fox of France, The politique Lewis," I, ii, 123-4), and to 
"the more desperate Swisse " (I, ii, 124), against whom Charles 



8 THE FATAL DOWRY 

lost his life and the power of Burgundy was broken ; while the 
three great defeats he suffered at their hands, Granson, Morat, 
Nancy, are named in I, ii, 170. Shortly after these disasters the 
events which the play sets forth must be supposed to occur ; the 
parliament by which in our drama Dijon is governed was estab- 
lished by Louis XI when he annexed Burgundy in 1477 and 
thereby abolished her ducal independence. 

Collaboration 

It is doubtful if Massinger ever collaborated with any author 
whose manner harmonized as well with his own as did Field's. 
In his partnership with Decker in The Virgin Martyr, the 
alternate hands of the two dramatists afford a weird contrast.^ 
His union with Fletcher was less incongruous, but Fletcher was 
too much inclined to take the bit between his teeth to be a com- 
fortable companion in double harness,'' and at all times his vola- 
tile, prodigal genius paired ill with the earnest, painstaking, not 
over-poetic moralist. But in Field Massinger found an associate 
whose connection with himself was not only congenial, but even 
beneficial, to the end that together they could achieve certain re- 
sults of which either was individually incapable ; just as it has 
been established was the case in the Middleton-Rowley collabora- 
tion. To a formal element of verse dififerent, indeed, from Mas- 
singer's, but not obtrusively so, a certain moral fibre of his own 
(perhaps derived from his clerical antecedents), and a like famili- 
arity with stage technique, Field added qualities which Massinger 
notably lacked, and thereby complemented him : a light and vig- 
orous (if sometimes coarse) comic touch as opposed to Mas- 
singer's cumbrous humor; a freshness and first-hand acquaint- 
ance with life as opposed to Massinger's bookishness ; a capacity 

^ E. g., I, i (Massinger) with its grave rhetoric uniformly sustained, 
and, in immediate succession, II, i (Decker), a medley of coarse buf- 
foonery and tender and beautiful verse. 

® As witness The False One. Here Massinger seems to have projected 
a stately historical drama of war and factional intrigue, with a concep- 
tion of Cleopatra as the Great Queen, more a Semiramis or a Zenobia 
than " the serpent of old Nile," and so treats his subject in the first and 
last Acts; while Fletcher "assists" him by filling the middle section of 
the play with scenes theatrically effective but leading nowhere, and in 
them makes the heroine the traditional " gipsy " Cleopatra. 



INTRODUCTION 9 

to visualize and individualize character as opposed to Massinger's 
weakness for drawing types rather than people. The fruit of 
their joint endeavors testifies to a harmonious, conscientious, and 
mutually respecting partnership. 

In consideration of the above, it is surprising how substantially 
in accord are most of the opinions that have been expressed con- 
cerning the share of the play written by each author. 

"A critical reader," says Monck Mason, "will perceive that 
Rochfort and Charalois speak a different language in the Second 
and Third Acts, from that which they speak in the first and last, 
which are undoubtedly Massinger's ; as is also Part of the Fourth 
Act, but not the whole of it." 

Dr. Ireland, in a postscript to the text of The Fatal Doivry in 
Gififord's edition, agrees with Mason in assigning the Second Act 
to Field and also the First Scene of the Fourth Act ; the Third 
Act, however, he claims for Massinger, as well as that share of 
the play with which Mason credits him. Fleay and Boyle, the 
chief modern commentators who have taken up the question of 
the division of authorship with the aid of metrical tests and other 
criteria, agree fairly well with the speculations of their less scien- 
tific predecessors, and adopt an intermediate, reconciling position 
on the disputed Third Act, dividing it between the two dramatists.'^ 

Boyle {Englische Studien, V, 94) assigns to Massinger Act I ; 
Act III as far as line 316; Act IV, Scenes ii, iii, and iv; and the 
whole of Act V, with the exception of Scene ii, lines 80-120, 
which he considers an interpolation of Field, whom he also be- 
lieves to have revised the latter part of I, ii (from Exeunt Officers 
with Romont to end). 

Fleay (Chron. Eng. Dra., I, 208) exactly agrees with this 
division save that the latter part of I, ii, which Boyle believes 
emended by Field, he assigns to that author outright ; and that he 
places the division in- Act III twenty-seven lines later (Field after 
Manent Char. Rom.). 

■^ The only other modern attempt to apportion the play is that of C. 
Beck {The Fatal Dowry, Friedrich-Alexander Univ. thesis, 1906, pp. 89- 
94). He assigns Massinger everything except the prose passages of II, 
ii and IV, i, and perhaps II, i, 93-109. His a priori theory of distribution 
seems to be that all portions of the play which he deems of w^orth must 
be Massinger's. It is difficult to speak of Beck's monograph v^rith suffi- 
ciently scant respect. 



10 THE FATAL DOWRV 

In my own investigation I have used for each Scene the fol- 
lowing tests to distinguish the hands of the two authors : 

(a) Broad aesthetic considerations: the comparison of style 
and method of treatment with the known work of either dramatist. 

(b) The test of parallel phrases. Massinger's habit of repeat- 
ing himself is notorious. I have gone through the entire body of 
his work, both that which appears under his name, and that which 
has been assigned to him by modern research in the Beaumont & 
Fletcher plays, and noted all expressions I found analogous to 
any which occur in The Fatal Dozvry. I have done the same for 
Field's work, examining his two comedies. Woman is a Weather- 
cock and Amends for Ladies, and Acts I and V of The Knight of 
Malta and III and IV of The Queen of Corinth, which the con- 
sensus of critical opinion recognizes (in my judgment, correctly) 
as his. He is generally believed to have collaborated also in The 
Honest Man's Fortune, but the exact extent of his work therein 
is so uncertain that I have not deemed it a proper field from 
which to adduce evidence. His hand has been asserted by one 
authority or another to appear in various other plays of the 
period, he having served, as it were, the role of a literary scape- 
goat on whom it was convenient to father any Scene not identified 
as belonging to Beaumont, Fletcher, or Massinger ; but there is no 
convincing evidence for his participation in the composition of 
any extant dramas save the above named. 

(c) Metrical tests. I have computed the figures for The Fatal 
Dozvry in regard to double or feminine endings and run-on lines. 
Massinger's verse displays high percentages (normally 30 per 
cent, to 45 per cent.) in the case of either. Field's verse varies 
considerably in the matter of run-on lines at various periods of 
his life, but the proportion of them is always smaller than Mas- 
singer's. His double endings average about 18 per cent. I have 
also counted in each Scene the number of speeches that end within 
the line, and that end with the line, respectively. (Speeches end- 
ing with fragmentary lines are considered to have mid-line end- 
ings.) This is declared by Oliphant (Fug. Stiidicn, XIV, 72) 
the surest test for the work of Massinger. " His percentage of 
speeches," he says, " that end where the verses end is ordinarily 
as low as 15." This is a tremendous exaggeration, but it is true 



INTRODUCTION 11 

that the ratio of mid-Hne endings is much higher in Massinger 
than in any of his contemporaries — commonly 2: i, or higher. 

We find the First Scene of Act I one of those skillful introduc- 
tions to the action which the " stage-poet " knew so well how to 
handle, for which reason, probably, he was generally intrusted 
with the initial Scene of the plays in which he collaborated. 
Thoroughly Massingerian are its satire upon the degenerate age 
and its grave, measured style, rhetorical where it strives to be 
passionate, and replete with characteristic expressions. Especially 
striking examples of the dramatist's well-known and never-failing 
penchant for the recurrent use of certain ideas and phrases are : 
As I could run the hazard of a check for't. (1. lo) — cf. ^C-G. 87 b, 
156 b, 327 b; D. V, 328; XI, 28; — You shall o'ercomc. (1. loi) — 
cf. C-G. 230 b, 248 b, 392 a; — and 11. 183-7 — cf. C-G. 206a, 63 a, 
91 a, 134 b. The correspondence between 11. 81-99 and the 
opening of The Unnatural Combat has already been remarked 
on, while further reminiscences of the same passage are to be 
found elsewhere in Massinger (C-G. 104 a, 195 b). Metrical 
tests show for the Scene 33 per cent, double endings and 29 per 
cent, run-on lines, figures which substantiate the conclusions 
derivable from a scrutiny of its style and content.^ 

In I, ii Massinger appears in his element, an episode permitting 
opportunities for the forensic fervor which was his especial forte. 
Such Scenes occur again and again in his plays : the conversion 
of the daughters of Theophilus by the Virgin Martyr, the plea of 
the Duke of Milan to the Emperor, of old Malefort to his judges 
in The Unnatural Combat, of Antiochus to the Carthagenian 
senate in Believe as You List. From the speech with which Du 

^ References to the plays of Massinger are either by page and column 
of the Cunningham-Gifford edition of his works (designated C-G.), or, in 
the case of plays in the Beaumont & Fletcher corpus in which he or Field 
collaborated, by volume and page of the Dyce edition (designated D.). 
Field's two independent comedies are referred to by page of the Mermaid 
Series volume which contains them: Nero and Other Plays (desig- 
nated M.). 

s The figures for the speech-ending test for each scene will be found in 
the table at the end of this section, and are not given in the course of the 
detailed examination of the play, save in the case of one passage, where 
the ambiguity of their testimony is noted. In all other Scenes they merely 
corroborate the evidence of the other tests. 



12 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Croy opens court (I, ii, 1-3) — cf. the inauguration of the senate- 
house scene in The Roman Actor, C-G. 197 b, 

Fathers conscript, may this our meeting be 
Happy to Caesar and the commonwealth! 

— to the very end, it abounds with Massingerisms : Knozmng 
judgment; Speak to the cause ; I foresazv this (an especial favorite 
of the poet's) ; Strange boldness! ; the construction, // that curses, 
etc; — also cf. 1. 117 ff. with 

To undervalue him whose least fam'd service 
Scornes to he put in ballance with the best 
Of all your Counsailes. 

(Sir John van Olden B., Bullen's Old Plays, II, 232.) 

We have seen that the hand of Field has been asserted to 
appear in the last half of this Scene. This is probably due to the 
presence here of several rhymed couplets, which are uncommon 
in Massinger save as tags at the end of Scenes or of impressive 
speeches, but not absolutely unknown in his work ; whereas Field 
employs them frequently — in particular to set off a gnomic utter- 
ance. If Field's indeed, they can scarcely represent more than 
his revising touch here and there; everything else in this part of 
the Scene bespeaks Massinger no less clearly than does the por- 
tion which preceeds it. There continues the same stately decla- 
mation, punctuated at intervals by brief comments or replies, the 
same periodic sentence-structure, the same or even greater fre- 
quency of characteristic diction. Massinger again and again 
refers in his plays to the successive hardships of the summer's 
heat and winter's frost (1. 184 — cf. C-G. 168 b, 205 a, 392 b, 
488 b) ; stand hound occurs literally scores of times upon his 
pages (three times on C-G. yy a alone) ; — typical also are in their 
dreadful ruins hurled quick (1. 178 — cf. C-G. 603 a, 625 a. Sir 
John van Olden B., Bullin's Old Plays, II, 209), Be constant in it 
(1. 196 — cf. C-G. 2 a, 137 a, 237 a, 329 a), Strange rashness!, 
It is my zvonder (1. 293 — cf. C-G. 26 b, 195 b ; D. VIII, 438; XI, 
34). Cf. also 1. 156, 

To quit the burthen of a hopeless life, 

with C-G. 615 b. 

To ease the burthen of a wretched life. 



INTRODUCTION 13 

And 11. 284-6, 

But would you had 
Made trial of my love in anything 
But this, 

with C-G. 286 a, 

/ could wish you had 
Made trial of my love some other way. 

And again, 11. 301-3, 

and his goodness 
Rising above his fortune, seems to me, 
Princelike, to will, not ask, a courtesy. 

with D. XI, 37, 

in his face appears 
A kind of majesty which should command, 
Not sue for favour. 

and the general likeness of 1. 258 ff. with C-G. 44 b-45 a, as above 
noted. Nor do the verse tests reveal any break in the continuity 
of the Scene ; the figures for the first part are : double endings, 
45 per cent. ; run-on lines, 33 per cent. — for the second part : 
double endings, 36 per cent. ; run-on lines, 36 per cent. 

Passing to the Second Act, we discover at once a new manner 
of expression, in which the sentence has a looser structure, the 
verse a quicker tempo, the poetry a striving now and again for a 
note of lyric beauty which, although satisfactorily achieved in but 
few lines, is by Massinger's verse not even attempted. A liberal 
sprinkling of rhymes appears. The Scene is a trifle more vividly 
conceived ; the emotions have a somewhat more genuine ring. 
Simultaneously, resemblances to the phraseology of Massinger's 
other plays become infrequent; and, to increase the wonder, is 
almost the only reminder of him in the whole of Scene i. On the 
other hand we must not expect to find in the work of Field the 
same large number of recognizable expressions as mark that of 
Massinger ; for he was not nearly so given to repeating himself, 
nor are there many of his plays extant from which to garner par- 
allels. The figure of speech with which Charalois opens his 
funeral address [Field shows a great predilection for "aqueous" 
similes and metaphors], the liberal use of oaths ('Slid, 'Slight), 



14 THE FATAL DOWRY 

a reference (1. 137) to the Bermudas (also mentioned in Amends 
for Ladies: ]\I. 427), and the comparison to the oak and pine 
(11. 119-121 — cf. a Field Scene of The Queen of Corinth: D. V, 
436-7) are the only specific minutia to which a finger can be 
pointed. The verse analysis testifies similarly to a different 
author from that of Act I, double endings being 20 per cent., 
run-on lines 15 per cent. — figures which are quite normal to Field. 

To the actor-dramatist may be set down the prose of II, ii 
without question. Massinger practically never uses prose, which 
is liberally employed by Field, as is the almost indistinguishable 
prose-or-verse by which a transition is made from one medium to 
the other. The dialogue between Beaumelle and her maids is 
strikingly like that between two "gentlewomen" in The Knight 
of Malta, I, ii — a Scene generally recognized as by his hand ; the 
visit of Novall Junior which follows is like a page out of his 
earlier comedies. Notable resemblances are 11. 177-8, Uds- 
light! my lord, one of the purls of your hand is, without all dis- 
cipline, fallen out of his rank, with / have seen him sit discon- 
tented a zi'hole play because one of the purls of his band zvas 
fallen out of his reach to order again. (Amends for Ladies, M. 
455) ; and 1. 104, they skip into my lord's cast skins some tzmce 
a year, with and then my lord (like a snake) casts a suite every 
quarter, lohich I slip into: (JVoman is a Weathercock, M. 374)- 
The song, after 1. 131, recalls that in Amends for Ladies, M. 465. 

Of the verse which follows, most of the observations made in 
regard to the preceeding Scene are applicable. The comic touch 
in the midst of Romont's tirade (11. 174-206) against old Novall, 
when the vehemence of his indignation leads him to seek at every 
breath the epithet of a different beast for his foe, is surely 
Field's, not Massinger's. A Field scene of The Queen of Corinth, 
D. V, 438, parallels with its Thou a gentleman! thou an ass, the 
construction of 1. 276. while there too is duplicated the true-love 
knots of 1. 314. though in a rather grotesque connection. The 
verse tests are confirmative of Field: 21 per cent, double end- 
ings ; 19 per cent, run-on lines. \\'hile a few resemblances to 
phrases occurring somewhere in the works of Alassinger can be 
marked here and there in the 355 lines of the Scene, they are not 
such as would demand consideration, nor are more numerous 
than sheer chance would yield in the case of a writer so prolific as 



INTRODUCTION 15 

the " stage-poet." The parallel between II. 284-297 and a passage 
from The Unnatural Combat is pointed out under the head of 
Date, and one of several possible explanations for this coinci- 
dence is there offered. These lines in The Fatal Doivry are as 
unmistakably Field's as any verse in the entire play ; their short, 
abruptly broken periods and their rapid flow are as characteristic 
of him as the style of their analogue in The Unnatural Combat is 
patently Massingerian. 

Act III presents a more difficult problem. It will be noted 
that Fleay and Boyle alike declare that its single long Scene is 
divided between the two authors, but are unable to agree as to the 
point of division. The first 316 lines are beyond question the 
work of Massinger. The tilt between Romont and Beaumelle is 
conducted with that flood of rhetorical vituperation by which he 
customarily attempts to delineate passion; in no portion of the 
play is his diction and sentence-structure more marked ; and the 
parallels to passages elsewhere in his works reappear with re- 
doubled profusion. Indeed, they become too numerous for com- 
plete citation ; let it suffice to refer 11. 43-4 to D. Ill, 477 ; 11. 53-4 
to C-G. 173 a; 11. 80-3 to D. Ill, 481; 1, 104 to C-G. 532 a;, 

I. 116 to C-G. 146 b; 11. 1 17-8 to D. VI, 294 and D. VI, 410; 

II. 232-5 to C-G. 307 a, also to 475 b, and to D. VIII, 406; while 
the phrase, Meet.tvith an ill construction (1. 238) is a common 
one with Massinger (cf. C-G. ^6 a, 141 b, 193 b, 225 b, 339 b), as 
are such ironic observations as the Why, 'tis exceeding zvell of 1. 
293 (cf., e. g., 175 b). This part of the Scene contains 45 per 
cent, double endings and 36 per cent, run-on lines. 

The last 161 lines of the Act with scarcely less certainty can be 
established as Field's, though on a first reading one might imagine, 
from the wordiness of the vehement dialogue and the rather high 
ratio (19:11) of speeches ending in mid-line, that the hand of 
Massinger continues throughout. But the closest examination 
no longer will reveal traces of that playwright's distinctive handi- 
work, while a ratio of 17 per cent, for double endings and 28 per 
cent, for run-on lines, the introduction of rhyme, the oaths, and 
the change from the previous full-flowing declamation to shorter, 
more abrupt periods are vouchers that this part of the Scene is 
from the pen of the actor-dramatist. We can scarcely imagine 



16 THE FATAL DOWRY 

the ponderous-styled Massinger writing anything so easy and 
rapid as 

I'll die first. 

Farewell; continue merry, and high heaven 

Keep your wife chaste. 

Such phrases as So I not heard them (1. 352) and Like George 
a-horseback (1. 433) in the loose structure of the one and the 
slangy scurrihty of the other, exhibit no kinship to his manner; 
1- 373j They are fools that judge me by my outward seeming 
recalls a Field passage in The Queen of Corinth (D. V, 444) 
They are fools that hold them dignified by blood. There is here 
and there, moreover, a certain violence of expression, a com- 
pressed over-trenchancy of phrase, that brings to mind the rant 
of the early Elizabethans, and is found among the Jacobeans only 
in the work of Rowley, Beaumont, and Field. For the last 
named, this is notably exempHfied in the opening soliloquy of The 
Knight of Malta; we cannot but recognize the same touch here in 

11. 386-8 : 

Thou dost strike 
A deathful coldness to my heart's high heat, 
And shrink'st my liver like the calenture. 

The Something I must do, which concludes the Act, is re- 
peatedly paralleled in INIassinger's plays, but a similar indefinite 
resolve is expressed in Woman is a Weathercock (M. 363), and it 
consequently cannot be adduced as evidence of his hand. Imme- 
diately above, however (11. 494-6), we encounter, in the allusion 
to the Italian and Dutch temperaments, a thought twice echoed by 
the " stage-poet " in plays of not greatly later date, The Duke of 
Milan and The Little French Lazvyer (C-G. 90 a ; D. Ill, 505). 
It may represent an interpolation by Massinger ; it may be merely 
that this rather striking conclusion to the climatic speech of his 
collaborator's scene so fixed itself on his mind as to crop out 
afterwards in his own productions. 

In the short disputed passage (11. 317-343) which separates 
what is undoubtedly Massinger's from what is undoubtedly 
Field's, it would appear that both playwrights had a hand. The 
'Sdeath and Gads me!, the play upon the word currier, and the 



INTRODUCTION 17 

phrase, / shall be imth yon suddenly (cf. Q. of Cor. D. V, 467) 
speak for Field ; while Massinger, on the other hand, parallels 



with 



His back 
Appears to me as it would tire a beadle ; 

A man of resolution, zvhose shoulders 

Are of themselves armour of proof, against 

A bastinado, and will tire ten beadles. — C-G. 186 b; 

and the phrase "to sit down with a disgrace" occurs something 
like a dozen times on his pages, especially frequently in the col- 
laborated plays — that is to say, in the earlier period of his work, 
to which The Fatal Dowry belongs. It is probable, and not un- 
natural, that the labors of the partners in composition overlapped 
on this bit of the Scene, but metrical analysis claims with as much 
certainty as can attach to this test in the case of so short a 
passage that it is substantially Massinger's, and should go rather 
with what preceeds than with what comes after it, the verse being 
all one piece with that of the former section. It has 37 per cent, 
double endings and 41 per cent, run-on lines. 

IV, i, opens with a prose passage for all the world like that of 
Woman is a Weathercock, I, ii, with its picture of the dandy, his 
parasites, and the pert page who forms a sort of chorus with his 
caustic asides; and writes itself down indisputably as by the same 
author. Novall Junior and his coterie appear here as in their 
former presentation in II, ii. We have again the same racy 
comedy, the same faltering of the vehicle between verse and prose 
(see 11. 61-8; 137-153). After the clearing of the stage of all 
save Romont and young Novall, uninterrupted verse ensues, 
which, despite a rather notable parallel in The Beggars' Bush, 
D. IX, 9 to 1. 174, is evidently Field's also. An analogue of 11. 
180-1 is discoverable in Amends for Ladies (M. 421), as is of 
the reference (1. 197) to "fairies' treasure" in Woman is a 
Weathercock (M. 344). Novall's exclamation (1. 182), Pox of 
this gun! and his retort (1. 201), Good devil to your rogueship! 
are Fieldian, and the entire passage possesses a vigor and an easy 
naturalness which declare his authorship. It is not improbable, 
however, that his contribution ends with the fragmentary 1. 207, 
and that the remaining four lines of the Scene are a Massinger 



18 THE FATAL DOWRY 

tag. The Maid of Honour (C-G. 28 a) furnishes a striking 
parallel for 11. 208-9, while for 210-1 cf. C-G. 192 a. The 
metrical tests for IV, i, confirm Field: 22 per cent, double end- 
ings ; 22 per cent, run-on lines. 

With the next Scene the hand of Massinger is once more in 
evidence with all its accustomed manifestations. One interested 
in his duplication of characteristic phrasing may refer for com- 
parison 11. 13-4 to C-G. 299 b; 1. 17 to C-G. 241 a; 11. 24-6 to 
C-G. 547 b ; 11. 29-30 to C-G. 425 b ; 1. 57 to C-G. 41 b, 70 b ; 1. 94 
to C-G. 182 b. The Scene contains 32 per cent, double endings 
and 37 per cent, run-on lines. The authorship of its two songs is 
less certain. Field was more given to song-writing than was 
Massinger, and the second of this pair is reminiscent in its con- 
ception of the Grace Seldom episode in Amends for Ladies (II, i). 

The short IV, iii is by Massinger. In evidence of him are its 
36 per cent, of double endings and 55 per cent, of run-on lines, its 
involved sentence structure, and the familiar phrasing which 
makes itself manifest even in so brief a passage (e. g. : To play 
the parasite, 1. 7 — cf. V, iii, 78 and C-G. 334 b. Cf. also 11. 9-10 
with D. Ill, 476; and 1. 22 with C-G. 40 b, 153 a, 262 b.). 

The same dramatist's work continues through the last Scene of 
the Act. This, the emotional climax of the play, representing a 
quasi- judicial procedure, affords him abundant opportunity for 
fervid moralizing and speech-making, of which he takes advantage 
most typically. Massinger commonplaces are 1. 29, Made ship- 
wreck of your faith (cf. C-G. 55 b, 235 a, 414 b) ; 1. 56, In the for- 
bidden labyrinth of lust (cf. C-G. 298b) ; 1. 89, Angels guard me! 
(cf. C-G. 59 b, 475 b) ; 1. 118-9, and yield myself Most miserably 
guilty (cf. C-G. 61 b, 66 b, 130 a ; D. VI, 354) ; etc. ; while within 
a year or so of the time when he wrote referring to " those famed 
matrons" (1. 70), he expatiated upon them in detail (see The 
Virgin Martyr, C-G. 33 a). Yet more specific parallels may be 
found : for 1. 63 cf. C-G. 179 a ; 11. 76-7, cf. C-G. 28 a ; 1. 78, cf. 
C-G. 32 b; 11. 162-3, cf. C-G. 3 b, in a passage wherein there is 
a certain similarity of situation; 1. 177, cf. D. IX, 7. Were any 
further confirmation needed for Massinger's authorship, the 
metrical tests would supply it, with their 36 per cent, double end- 
ings and 34 per cent, run-on lines. 

The most cursory reading of V, i is sufficient to establish the 



INTRODUCTION 19 

conviction that its author is not identical with that of the earher 
comic passages — is not Field, but Massinger. The humor, such 
as it is, is of a graver, more restrained sort — satiric rather than 
burlesque ; it has lost lightness and verve, and approaches to 
high-comedy and even to moralizing. One feels that the con- 
fession of the tailor-gallant is no mere fun-making devise, but a 
caustic attack upon social conditions against which the writer 
nurtured a grudge. Massingerian are such expressions as And 
no-iu I think on't better (1. yy — cf . C-G. 57 b, 468 a, 615 a ; D. XI, 
28), and use a conscience (1. 90 — cf. C-G. 444 a, 453 a), while the 
metrical evidence of 36 per cent, double endings and 29 per cent, 
run-on lines fortifies a case concerning which all commentators 
are in agreement. But despite the unanimity of critical opinion 
hitherto, I am not sure that Field did not contribute a minor touch 
here and there to the Scene. Such contribution, if a fact, must 
have been small, for the Alassinger flavor is unmistakable 
throughout; yet in the Plague out! and the 'Slid!, in the play 
upon words (11. 13-4, 20-1, 44), which is rare with Massinger 
and common with Field, in the line, / only know [thee] nozv to 
hate thee deadly: (cf. Amends for Ladies, M. 421 : / never more 
Will hear or see thee, hut zmll hate thee deadly.), we may, per- 
haps, detect a hint of his hand. 

Scene ii (which in the Quarto ends with the reconciliation of 
Charalois and Romont, the entry of Du Croy, Charmi, etc. being 
marked as the beginning of a third Scene, though the place is 
unchanged and the»action continuous, wherefore modern editors 
disregard the Quarto's division and count Scene ii as including 
all the remainder of the Act) presents the usual distinctive ear- 
marks of a Massinger passage. The last third of it, however 
(11. 80-121), has, on account of the presence of several rhymes, 
been commonly assigned to Field. No doubt his hand is here 
discernable ; 1. 118, mark'd me out the nmy hozv to defend it, is 
scarcely a Massinger construction either ; but I cannot think 
Field's presence here more than that of a reviser, just as in the 
latter half of I, ii. The language remains more Massinger's 
than Field's ; and while the passage is over-short for metrical 
tests to be decisive, the 39 per cent, of double endings and 35 
per cent, of run-on lines which it yields (for the earlier part of 
the Scene the figures are respectively 28 per cent, and 35 per 



20 THE FATAL DOWRY 

cent.) are corroborative of Massinger's authorship. Cf. also 
11. 96-8 with this from The Rencgado (C-G. 157 a) : 

This applause 
Confirm'd in your allowance, joys me more 
Than if a thousand full-cramm'd theatres 
Should clap their eager hands. 

Of the final Scene, V, iii, little need be said. It brings before 
us again a court-room, with another trial, and continues the 
manner of its predecessor, I, ii, as only Massinger can. His 
customary formulae, stand bound, play the parasite, etc., are 
here ; characteristic too are his opposition of zvanton heat and 
lazuful fires (11. 141-2 — cf. C-G. 37 b ; D. V. 476), while fur- 
ther material for comparison may be found in 11. 95-6 with 
Respect, zvealth, favoitr, the whole zvorld for a dower of The 
Virgin Martyr (C-G. 6 b), and in 11. 165-7: 

Char. You must find other proofs to strengthen these 
But mere presumptions. 

,Du Croy Or we shall hardly 

Allow your innocence. 

I 
with C-G. 39 a and b : 

You must produce 
Reasons of more validity and weight 
To plead in your defence, or we shall hardly 
Conclude vou innocent. 

The last passage cited for comparison also exhibits another 
feature normal to the work of this dramatist : the splitting of an 
observation, frequently a single sentence, between two speakers ; 
so 11. 38-9, and again, 1. 59. The Scene and play are rounded 
off with the pointing of a moral, so indispensable to Massinger's 
satisfaction. 

To sum up, therefore, disregarding for practical purposes the 
slight touches of Field in I, ii, 11. J46-cnd; III, i, 11. 317-343; 
V, ii, 11. So-end; and perhaps in V, i; — and the apparent Mas- 
singer touches in IV, i, and possibly at one or two other points 
in the Field Scenes, we may divide the play as follows : 

Massinger: I; III, 11. 1-343; IV, ii, iii, iv ; V. 

Field: II; III, 11. ^44-end; IV, i. 



INTRODUCTION 



21 



A metrical analysis of the play is appended in tabular form, in 
which I have computed separately the figures for each portion 
of any Scene on which there has been a question. It will be noted 
that the single simple test of the mid-line speech-ending would, 

















>, 






J3 




Scene 


V VI 


|3 




u 

0, 


? s 

c c 


c 




3 


fa 


•T3 

y 




0.-0 


Author 


I, i 


— 


196 


64 


33 


56 


29 


I 


2 


42 


22 


Massinger 


I, ii (a) . . 


— 


145 


64 


45 


48 


33 


I 


2 


25 


14 


Massinger 


I. ii (b) . . 


— 


158 


57 


36 


57 


36 





12 


30 


16 


Massinger (Field 
revision) 


II, i 


— 


145 


29 


20 


22 


15 


4 


16 


19 


17 


Field 


II, ii .... 


82 


^73 


57 


21 


52 


19 


9 


12 


47 


50 


Field 


Ill, i (a) . 


— 


316 


142 


45 


114 


36 


I 


2 


67 


29 


Massinger 


Ill, i (b). 


— 


27 


10 


37 


II 


41 


3 





13 


6 


Massinger (with 
Field ?) 


Ill, i (c) . 


— 


161 


28 


17 


45 


28 





10 


19 


II 


Field 


IV, i .... 


88 


124 


27 


22 


27 


22 


4 


6 


26 


24 


Field 


IV, ii . . . . 


— 


104 


33 


32 


38 


37 


2 


2 


24 


10 


Massinger 


IV, iii.... 


— 


32 


8 


36 


12 


55 








3 


I 


Massinger 


IV, iv . . . 


— 


195 


71 


36 


67 


34 





6 


32 


8 


Massinger 


V, i 


— 


107 


38 


36 


31 


29 


I 


2 


16 


5 


Massinger 


V, ii (a) . . 


— 


80 


22 


28 


27 


34 





2 


17 


2 


Massinger 


V, ii (b).. 


— 


41 


15 


37 


14 


35 





8 


3 


3 


Massinger (Field 
revision) 


V, iii 


— 


229 


98 


43 


50 


22 





4 


34 


19 


Massinger 



with but two exceptions — one (III, i, c) doubtful, and the other 
(V, ii, b) too short a passage to afford a fair test — have made a 
clean-cut and correct determination of authorship in every case. 



Critical Estimate 

No less an authority than Swinburne has pronounced The 
Fatal Doivry the finest tragedy in the Massinger corpus. Cer- 
tainly it would be the most formidable rival of The Duke of 
Milan for that distinction. It occupies an anomalous position 
among the works of the " stage poet." His dramas are, as a 
rule, strongest in construction ; he went at play-making like a 
skillful architect, and put together and moulded his material with 
steady hand. They are likely to be weakest in characterization. 
Massinger could not get inside his figures and endow them with 
the breath of life ; they remain stony shapes chiseled in severely 
angular and conventional lines, like some old Egyptian bas- 



22 THE FATAL DOWRY 

relief. But The Fatal Dozvry is strong in characterization and 
defective in construction. 

The structural fault is less surprising when it is ascertained 
to be fundamental — inevitable in the theme. The play breaks in 
the middle : it is really composed of two stories ; the first two 
Acts present and resolve one action, while another, hitherto 
barely presaged, occupies the last three, and is the proper story 
of the Fatal Dowry. Charalois' self-immolation for the corpse 
of his heroic father, and his rescue and reward by the great- 
hearted Rochfort, form a little play in themselves — a brief but 
stately tragi-comedy, which is followed by a tense drama of 
intrigue and retribution, of adultery and avenged honor — itself 
complete in itself, for which we are prepared in the first two 
Acts only by one figure, whose potentialities for disaster are 
ominous if not obvious: — Beaumelle, of whom more later. This 
plot-building by enjambment precludes the slow, steady mounting 
of suspense from the initial moment and inexorable gathering 
of doom which are manifested in a well-conceived tragedy ; yet 
crude, amorphous, inorganic as it may seem — defying, as it does, 
unity of action — like as it is to the earliest Elizabethan plays, 
which were concerned with a single career rather than a single 
theme, it would appear inevitably necessary, if a maximum effect 
is to be gained from the given plot-material. Just as Wagner 
found it impossible to do justice to the story of Siegfried with- 
out first presenting that of Siegmund and Sieghnde, so the ex- 
periment of Rowe (who in re-working the story for TJic Fair 
Penitent relegated to expository dialogue the narration of what 
corresponds to the first two Acts of The Fatal Dozvry) sadly 
demonstrated that unless the reader or audience actually sees, 
and not merely hears about, Charalois' previous devotion, Roch- 
fort's generosity, and Romont's loyalty, these characters do not 
attract to themselves a full measure of sympathy, and the story 
of their later vicissitudes is somewhow unconvincing and falls flat. 

Massinger and Field accepted frankly the structural awkward- 
ness of their plot as they had fashioned or found it. Making, 
apparently, no attempt to obviate its essential duality, they went 
to work in the most straightforward manner, and achieved, 
thanks in no small measure to that same resolute directness of 
approach, a drama of so naturalistic a tone as half to redeem its 



INTRODUCTION 23 

want of unity. The Fatal Dozvry is not an Aristotelian tragedy 
with a definite beginning, middle, and end — it is rather a cross- 
section of life. The unconventionality and vitality of such a 
production are startling, and obtain a high degree of verisimili- 
tude. 

Both authors seem to have been themselves inspired by their 
virile theme to give to it their best work. The stately, somewhat 
monotonous verse of Massinger, which never loses dignity and 
is so incapable of expressing climaxes of passion, is once or 
twice almost forgotten, or else rises to a majesty which trans- 
figures it. Though forensic declamation was always the especial 
forte of this dramatist, he literally out-did himself in his man- 
agement of the suit for the dead Marshal's body. The elaborate 
rhetoric of Charmi, checked by the stern harshness of Novall 
Senior, the indignant outburst of Romont, and the sad, yet noble 
calmness of Charalois' speech in which he presses the forlorn 
alternative, succeed one another with striking contrast ; the very 
flow of the verse changes with the speaker in a manner which 
recalls the wonderful employment of this device by Shakespeare, 
as, for example, in the First Act of Othello. In the final Scene 
of Act IV, Massinger achieves a climax worthy of Fletcher him- 
self ; — save, perhaps, the denouement of A Nezu Way to Pay 
Old Debts, and the great scene in The Duke of Milan in which 
Sforza's faith in his Duchess is broken down by aspersion after 
aspersion, until he slays her, only to learn the terrible truth one 
instant later, it is the most dramatic situation he ever worked up. 
Field, too, seems to have been on his mettle : his verse is more 
trenchant, his care greater than in his two earlier comedies ; the 
lines (II, i, 126-7) 

My root is earthed, and I a desolate branch 
Left scattered in the highzvay of the world, 

touch the high-water mark of his poetic endeavor. 

Blemishes, indeed, are not unapparent. The episodic first 
Scene of x^ct V is a rather stupid piece of pseudo-comedy by 
Massinger, which serves no function adequate to justify its 
existence, while it interrupts the thread of the main story at a 
point where its culminating intensity does not, of right, permit 
such a diversion.^ Gififord in commenting upon this Scene makes 



24 THE FATAL DOWRY 

the amazing pronouncement that it serves " to prove how differ- 
ently the comic part of this drama would have appeared, if the 
whole had fortunately fallen into the hands of Massinger." Surely 
never was criticism more fatuous. 

But the most serious — indeed, the outstanding — defect of the 
play is the easy readiness of Charalois to break with Romont. 
The calm, unregretful placidity with which he untwists the long 
web of friendship with a man who has stood by him through 
weal and woe, who has courted a prison's chains for his sake, 
shocks us, and repels us with its flinty self-sufficiency. It is not 
that we know him to be wrong and Romont to be right ; suppose 
the high faith of Charalois in Beaumelle to be entirely justified 
and the charge of Romont to be as groundless as it is wildly 
delivered and unconvincing, yet there is no excuse for the imme- 
diacy with which, on the first revelation of what he himself has 
demanded to know, the hero rejects, along with the report of his 
friend, the friend himself, whose aim could have been only his 
best interest. For the fault lies not in the situation, which is 
sound, but in its over-hasty development. A little more length 
to the scene, a few more speeches to either participant in the 
dialogue, a little longer and more vituperative insistence on the 
part of Romont in the face of Charalois' warnings that he has 
gone far enough, and the quarrel would have been thoroughly 
realized and developed. As it is, it comes on insufficient provo- 
cation ; the hero, at the moment when he should excite regret and 
sympathy because of his blind, mistaken trust in his unworthy 
wife, excites rather indignation; the later words of Romont with 
which he justifies his unshaken loyalty to his comrade turn back 
the mind perforce to that comrade's lack of loyalty to him, and 
unwittingly ring out as a judgment upon Charalois: 

That friendship's raised on sand, 
Which every sudden gust of discontent, 
Or flowing of our passions can change. 
As if it ne'er had been: — 

The faulty passage, it will be noted upon reference to the analysis 
of shares in collaboration, is by the hand of Field. Unconvincing 
precipitancy in the conduct of situations marks his work else- 
where, notably in the Amends for Ladies. 



INTRODUCTION 25 

As it has already been said, the strongest feature of the play 
is its characterization. Almost every figure iS; if not an indi- 
vidual, at least a type so vitalized as to appear to take on life. 
One or two touches, to be sure, of conventional Massingerian 
habits of thought still cling about them ; even the noblest cannot 
entirely forget to consider how their conduct will pose them 
before the eyes of the world and posterity. But apart from such 
slight occasional lapses, they may truthfully be said to speak and 
move quite in the manner of real men and women. 

The hero, Charalois, is drawn as of a gentle, meditative, tem- 
perate, and self-possessed disposition, in strong and effective 
contrast to his friend. Though his military exploits are spoken 
of with admiration, and Romont testifies that he can "pursue a 
foe like lightning," he betrays a certain readiness to yield to dis- 
couragement scarce to be expected in the son of the great gen- 
eral. In consequence of these facts, he has been described by 
some (notably Cunningham, in his Edition of Gififord, Introduc- 
tion, p. xiii; — cf. also Phelan, p. 6i ; and Beck, pp. 22-3) as 
" a Hamlet whose mind has not yet been sicklied o'er by the pale 
cast of thought," and his long silence at the opening of Act I is 
compared to that of the Danish Prince on his first appearance. 
But, in reality, excess of pride is the chief reason of Charalois' 
backwardness on this occasion, and thereafter he acts promptly 
and efficiently always. The same over-sensitive pride continues 
to manifest itself throughout the play — when he is confronted 
with Rochfort's generosity; when he finds (III, i, 365 ff.) that it 
is he who is the object of the jests of Novall Junior and his 
satellites (though scarce a breath earlier he has chided Romont 
for noticing the yapping of such petty curs) ; and in the viscissi- 
tudes of the catastrophe and its consequences. A harmonious 
twin-birth with his pride, at once proceeding from it, bound up 
with it, and on occasion over-weighing its scruples, is an extreme 
punctiliousness at every turn to the dictates of that peculiarly 
Spanish imperative, " the point of honor," — a consideration so 
prominent throughout the play as to have convinced many critics 
that the source of the story, although still undiscovered, must 
have been Spanish. These two traits — pride and an adherence 
to "the point of honor," are almost invariably the mainsprings 
of Charalois' conduct. His pride holds him back from suppli- 



26 THE FATAL DOWRY 

eating in behalf of his father the clemency of the unworthy 
ministers of the law, till he is persuaded by Romont that honor 
not only permits but requires that he do so; he feels that honor 
demands that he sacrifice himself to secure his father's burial, and 
he does it; that honor demands that he put away his friend in 
loyalty to his wife, and he does it; that honor demands that he 
slay the adulteress — and he does it ; he even consents to lay bare 
the details of his ignominious wrong before the eyes of men, 
because he is brought to believe that " the point of honor " calls 
for a justification of his course and the holding of it up as an 
example to the world. It is a striking and consistent portrait — 
how unlike the usual conventionally noble hero of romantic 
drama ! 

Romont, however, is the finest figure of the play. He draws 
to himself rather more than his share of interest and sympathy, 
to the detriment of the protagonist. Of a type common enough 
on the stage of that day — the bluff, loyal soldier-friend of the 
hero — he is yet so thoroughly individualized that we can discuss 
him and calculate what he will do in given situations, even as 
with a character of Shakespeare's. The portrait suft'ers from 
no jarring inconsistencies; almost his every utterance is abso- 
lutely in part, and adds its touch to round out our conception of 
him. His negligence of his personal appearance, his quick tem- 
per, his impulsiveness, his violence, his lack of restraint, his 
fierce, uncompromising honesty, his devotion to the " grave Gen- 
eral dead " and his vmshaken fidelity to the living son, his flashes 
of unexpected tenderness, his homage for the reverend virtue 
of Rochfort — a sort of child-like 'awe for what he knows is finer 
if not of truer metal than his own rough spirit, his ill-disguised 
scorn for Novall Junior and his creatures, " those dogs in 
doublets," his lack of tact which unfits him for eiTective service 
in the delicate task of preserving Beaumelle's honor, and dooms 
his story to Charalois to disbelief and resentment, his prompt, 
fearless decisiveness of action, the tumultuous flood of nervous 
and at times eloquent speech which pours from his lips when he 
is aroused, yet dies in his throat when he is lashed by a woman's 
tongue — a flood of speech which is most torrential when the 
situation is most doubtful or hopeless of good issue, but which 
gives place to a self-possessed terseness when he is quite sure of 



INTRODUCTION 27 

his ground : — all go to give detail and reality to a character at 
once amazingly alive and irresistibly attractive. " Romont is one 
of the noblest of all Massinger's men," says Swinburne, " and 
Shakespeare has hardly drawn noble men more nobly than Mas- 
singer." To find a parallel creation who can over-match him in 
vigor of presentation and theatrical efficiency, we must go back 
to the Melantius of Beaumont and Fletcher. These two charac- 
ters represent the ultimate elaborations of the stock figure of the 
faithful friend and blunt soldier; Melantius is the supreme 
romantic, Romont the supreme realistic, development of the type. 

Yet though Romont is the most compelling of the dramatis 
personae, into none does Massinger enter more thoroughly than 
the noble figure of Rochfort. Utter devotion to virtue, to which 
he had paid a life-long fidelity, is the key-note of the nature of 
the aged Premier President, and accordingly in him the deep- 
seated ethical seriousness of the " stage-poet " found a congenial 
expression. A statelier dignity is wont to echo in his lines than 
in the utterance of any other character ; they breathe an exalted 
calm, a graciousness, a grave courtesy, as though the very spirit 
of their speaker had entered them. 

An inabiHty to judge the character of others was his great 
weakness — a weakness which he himself realized, for he called 
upon Beaumont to confirm the one strikingly sure, true appraise- 
m.ent which he exhibited, his admiration for Charalois. Charac- 
teristically, this weakness seems to have taken the form of a 
too-generous estimate of his fellows. This caused him to bestow 
his vacated office upon the harsh and unjust Novall, and to be 
blind to the disposition of his daughter, and the danger that lay 
in her intimacy with Novall Junior. But if his kindly nature 
saw the better side of even that contemptible young man, he at 
least understood him well enough not to take him at all seriously 
as a suitor for Beaumelle's hand. 

Of the Novalls, father and son, there is a much briefer presen- 
tation. Yet even so, in the case of old Novall we have as mas- 
terly a sketch as in Romont a detailed study. His every word 
is eloquent of his stern, not to say mean, nature — curt and severe 
towards others, all prejudice where he himself is concerned, in- 
exorably malevolent against those who incur his animosity. Yet 
it never enters his head to seek the satisfaction of his hate in 



28 TPIE FATAL DOWRY 

any way save through the law ; for example, he does not seize 
upon, or even think seriously of, Pontalier's proffer of private 
vengeance ; the law is his sphere — he will abuse it to his ad- 
vantage, if he can, but he will not go outside of it. He is, in 
other words, the Official Bureaucrat par excellence, and his 
enmity against the martial house of the Charaloises and the rigor 
with which he is said to "cross every deserved soldier and 
scholar," and, on the other hand, the detestation in which Ro- 
mont holds him, are manifestations of the feud of type against 
type. It has been suggested that the especial fervor with which 
he is devoted to execration argues a prototype in actual life, and 
that in him is to be recognized Sir Edward Coke, notorious for 
che savage vindictiveness of his conduct towards Sir Walter 
Raleigh. 

Novall Junior, the cowardly, foppish, and unscrupulous gal- 
lant, though a flimsy personality, affords once or twice, in the 
Fieldian prose, rather good humor : e. g. — 

Nay, o' my soul, 'tis so; zvhat fouler object in the zvorld, than 
to see a young, fair, handsome beauty unhandsomely dighted, 
and incongruently accoutred? or a hopeful chevalier unmethod- 
ically appointed in the external ornaments of nature? For, even 
as the index tells us the contents of stories, and directs to the 
particular chapters, even so does the outivard habit and super- 
ficial order of garments {in man or zvoman) give us a taste of 
the spirit, and demonstratively point {as it were a manual note 
from the margin) all the internal quality and habiliment of the 
soul; and there cannot be a more evident, palpable, gross mani- 
festation of poor, degenerate, dunghilly blood and breeding, than 
a rude, unpolished, disordered, and slovenly outside. (IV, i, 
48-60.) 

Of the remaining characters, only two call for especial notice. 
The three Creditors are a blemish upon the otherwise striking 
verisimilitude of the play; they are impossible, inhuman monsters 
of greed and relentlessness, who serve as vehicles for a kind of 
grotesque comedy. A personal rancour on the part of the authors 
may have been responsible for this presentation, as it is probable 
that they themselves had had none-too-pleasant experiences with 
money-lenders. Pontalier, however, is very well conceived and 
skillfully executed. Occupying a relation to Novall Junior quite 



INTRODUCTION 29 

similar to that of Romont to Charalois, he is yet differentiated 
from his parallel, while at the same time he is kept free from any 
taint of the despicableness and fawning servility which are 
chiefly prominent in the parasites of the vicious and feather- 
brained young lord. There is something really pathetic about 
this brave, honorable soldier, committed to the defense of an 
unworthy benefactor, ranged on the side of wrong against right, 
by his very best qualities : his noble sense of gratitude, his loyalty, 
his devotion to what he conceives to be his duty. It will be ob- 
served that he never joins with the rest of the group about 
Novall Junior in their jibes against Charalois and Romont. 

The last figure for consideration, and not the least important, 
is Beaumelle. So general has been the misconception of her 
character that it calls for a more detailed analysis than has been 
accorded to the other personages of the drama, or than the place 
she occupies might appear to warrant. That place, indeed, is not 
a striking one ; she is scarce more than a character of second 
rank, appearing in but few scenes and speaking not many lines. 
Yet her part in the story is one of such potentialities that in 
Rowe's version of the same theme her analogue becomes the 
central figure, and even in Tlie Fatal Dozvry a failure to under- 
stand her has probably been at the bottom of most of the less 
favorable judgments that have been passed upon the play, while 
those critics who appraise it higher yet acknowledge her to be its 
one outstanding defect. "' TJie Fatal Dozvry," says Saintsbury 
(Hist. Eng. Lit., vol. ii, p. 400) " . . . is . . . injured by the un- 
attractive character of the light-of-love Beaumelle before her 
repentance (Massinger never could draw a woman)." She is 
declared by Swinburne to be " too thinly and feebly drawn to 
attract even the conventional and theatrical sympathy which 
Fletcher might have excited for a frail and penitent heroine : and 
the almost farcical insignificance and baseness of her paramour 
would suffice to degrade his not involuntary victim beneath the 
level of any serious interest or pity." If these and similar pro- 
nouncements were well founded, the play as a cross-section of 
life would have the great weakness of being unconvincing at a very 
vital point. A study of the text, however, will discover Beau- 
melle to be portrayed, in the brief compass of her appearance, 
in no wise inadequately, but rather, if anything, somewhat beyond 



30 THE FATAL DOWRY 

the requirements of her dramatic function — will reveal her, not, 
indeed, a personage of heroic proportions and qualities, but a 
young woman of considerable naturalness, plausibility, and real- 
istic convincingness. 

The trouble has probably been that the critics of Beaumelle 
have passed hastily over the very scurrilous prose scene in which 
she first appears. They have looked on this passage as merely a 
piece of Fieldian low-comedy, a coarse bit of bufifoonery which 
pretends to no function save that of humor, and can sustain not 
even this pretense. Nothing can be further from the truth. The 
passage is a piece of coarse comedy such as Field had an over- 
fondness for writing; but it is something more; in reality, a 
proper understanding of the heroine is conditioned upon it. 

Beaumelle is a young girl whose mother, we may infer, has 
long been dead. The cares of the bench have been too great to 
allow her father time for much personal supervision of her; she 
has had for associates her two maids, and of these she not un- 
naturally finds the gay and witty, but thoroughly depraved, Bel- 
lapert the more congenial, and adopts her as her mentor and con- 
fidant. She is in love, after a fashion — caught, like the impres- 
sionable, uncritical girl she is, by the fair exterior of a young 
magnificent, whose elegant dress and courtly show of devotion 
quite blind her to his real worthlessness — and there is scant likeli- 
hood of her getting the man who has charmed her fancy. Her 
disposition is high-spirited and wayward, but not deliberately 
vicious; she has certain hazily defined ideals, mingled with the 
same romantic mist through which the superfine dandy, Novall, 
appears in her eyes a very Prince Charming : she " would meet 
love and marriage both at once " ; she desires to preserve her 
honor. She has ideals, but she doubts their tangibility ; she is in 
an unsettled state of mind, questioning the fundamentals of con- 
duct and social relationships, in much need of good counsel. In 
that perilous mood she talks with Bellapert — Bellapert, the dearest 
cabinet of her secrets — Bellapert, the bribed instrument of Novall 
— and is told by that worldly-wise wench that marriage almost 
never unites with love, but must be used as a cloak for it ; that 
honor is a foolish fancy ; that a husband is a master to be out- 
witted and despised. The shaft sinks home all too surely ; a 



INTRODUCTION 31 

visit at that very moment by Beaumelle's lover completes the 
conquest, when her father interrupts their tete-a-tete — her father, 
who comes with the anouncement that she must marry a man 
whom she does not even know ! In the scene where the destined 
bride and groom are brought face to face, she stands throughout 
in stony silence quite as eloquent as the more famous speechless- 
ness of Charalois at the beginning of the play. She has ever been 
" handmaid " to her father's will ; she reahzes all her hopes and 
fortunes "have reference to his liking;" and now she obeys, 
with the bitter thought in her heart that Fate, in denying her her 
will, has wronged Love itself (II, ii, 154) ; only when Charalois 
turns to her with a direct question, " Fair Beaumelle, can you love 
me ? " does she utter a word — then from her lips a brief, desperate, 
"Yes, my lord" — and a moment later (II, ii, 315) she is weep- 
ing silently. (Her answer was honest in as far as she really did 
mean to give to the man chosen for her husband her duty with 
her hand.) Then the voice of the tempter whispers in her ear, 
she feels its tug at her heart, and with a cry, " Oh, servant ! — 
Virtue strengthen me ! " she hurries from the room. That is the 
situation at the end of the Second Act and first part of the play ; 
an appreciation of its significance makes the connection with 
what follows less arbitrary and inorganic. 

When Beaumelle next appears, in the Third Act, there has 
been a change. We may imagine that she has had time to ponder 
those cynical maxims of Bellapert on the natural course of 
romance. Her union has been unwilling ; she does not care for 
her husband ; Novall appeals to her as much as ever : with her 
eyes open, she deliberately chooses the path of sin — because the 
enforced marriage which shattered her hopes must needs appear 
to her the final demonstration of the correctness of her maid's 
contention (towards which she was already inclining) that she 
has been foolishly impractical to dream of the satisfaction of her 
heart's wish through wedlock, but that it is by secret amour that 
love must be, and is wont to be, enjoyed. 

It may not be unreasonable to regard the resourcefulness and 
effrontery which characterize her throughout the Third Act as 
the result of a sort of mental intoxication, into which she has 
been lifted by her reckless resolve and the consciousness of 
danger; at any rate she now shows herself altogether too much 



32 THE FATAL DOWRY 

for Romoiit ; she finds a shrewdness and an eloquence that carry 
her triumphant to the consummation of her desire. When dis- 
covery ensues, her paramour is slain, and she herself is haled to 
die, she is overcome — abruptly and, one might say, strangely — 
with remorse and penitence. But it is not at all by one of those 
theatrically convenient but psychologically absurd changes of 
heart so frequent in the drama of that period ; nothing, indeed, 
could be more true to life. Novall Junior, coward and fop that 
he was, has hitherto always borne himself in lordly fashion before 
her, even when they were surprised by Romont ; but now at last 
she beholds him stripped to the shivering abjectness of his con- 
temptible soul, that she may observe his baseness. She sees him 
cowed and beaten and slain, while Charalois (whom she never 
knew before their marriage nor has tried to understand in the 
brief period of their wedlock) with his outraged honor and irre- 
sistible prowess assumes to her eyes the proportions of a hero ; 
and with her girl's romanticism^^ of nature, she bows down and 
worships him. It is somewhat the same note that is struck by 
Thackeray in the similar situation where Rawdon Crawley, re- 
turning home unexpectedly, finds his wife with Lord Steyne and 
knocks the man down. 

It zvas all done before Rebecca could interpose. She stood 
there trembling before him. She admired her husband, strong, 
brave, victorious. 

So it was with Beaumelle. Except for one brief cry of " Un- 
done for ever ! " she utters no word from the moment of the sur- 
prise to the end of the Scene. She hangs back, shrinking, for a 
moment, when ordered into the coach with the dead body of her 
partner in guilt. " Come," says Charalois, in terrible jest, " you 
have taught me to say, you must and shall. . . . You are but to 
keep him company you love — " and she obeys mutely. 

Thus, all contriteness, Beaumelle goes to her fate. It should 
be observed how, even at the last, her tendency to romantic ideal- 
ization vehemently asserts itself; she looks fondly back (IV, iv, 

10 This is all the more rampant in that it is suddenly called back into 
activity after its period of obscuration while she yielded herself to a cyn- 
ical, immoral opportunism, and is now brought, by a fearful shock, to 
confront higher ethical values and real manhood. For this time she is 
given not a Novall but a Charalois to idealize. 



INTRODUCTION 33 

53) to an imagined time, which never really existed, when she 
was "good" and "a part of" Charalois, made one with him 
through the virtuous harmony of their minds ! — no voice is more 
unfaltering than her own to pronounce her doom as both righteous 
and necessary, and she conceives herself to climb, by her ecstatic 
welcoming of death, into the company of the ancient heroines and 
martyrs. In its realism of the commonplace and its slightly ironic 
conception, it is the outline drawing of a character that might 
have received elaborate portraiture at the hands of Flaubert. 

Whether we are to regard this consistent " study irt little " as a 
deliberate piece of work on the part of the authors, must remain 
a matter of opinion. There is no similar figure elsewhere in the 
dramatic output of Massinger, nor any quite so minutely con- 
ceived within the same number of speech-lines in that of Field, 
and one could scarce be blamed for believing that a number of 
hap-hazard, sketchy strokes with which the collaborators dashed 
off a character whom they deemed of no great importance, all so 
fell upon the canvas that, by a miracle of chance, they went to 
form the lineaments of a real woman. The discussion of the 
probability or possibility of such a hypothesis would carry us 
very far afield, and would involve the question of the extent to 
which all genius is unconscious and intuitive. But however that 
may be, the result of their labors remains the same, there to 
behold in black and white, and Beaumelle, so far from being a 
poorly conceived and unsatisfactory wanton who is the chief 
defect of the play, is a figure of no mean verisimilitude who suc- 
ceeds after a fashion in linking together the loose-knit dual struc- 
ture of the drama ; to whose main catastrophe she adds her own 
tragedy, a tragedy neither impressive nor deeply stirring, it is 
true, for she is a petty spirit from whom great tragedy does not 
proceed — but tragedy still — the eternal, inevitable tragedy of false 
romanticism, that has found its culmination in the person of 
Emma Bovary. 

In this study of Beaumelle, The Fatal Dowry has been sub- 
jected to a much more intensive examination than it is the custom 
to bestow upon the dramas of the successors of Shakespeare. 
The truth is that the plays of the Jacobean period do not, as a 
rule, admit of such analysis. In most of them, and especially in 
the plays of Massinger, he who searches and probes them comes 



34 THE FATAL DOWRY 

presently to a point beyond which critical inquiry is stopped short 
with a desperate finality ; be they ever so strikingly splendid and 
glittering fair in their poetry and their characterization, these 
dazzling qualities lie upon the surface, and a few careful perusals 
exhaust their possibilities and tell us all there is to know of them. 
But The Fatal Dozirry, though less imposing than a number of 
others, stands almost alone among its contemporaries in sharing 
with the great creations of Shakespeare the power to open new 
vistas, to present new aspects, to offer new suggestions, the longer 
it is studied. Perhaps this is due to the fact that, as has already 
been said, it is not so much a tragedy of the accepted type as a 
cross-section of life. 

How does it come about, we may well ask, that this play pos- 
sesses qualities so rare and so strangely at variance with those 
which are normal to the work of Massinger — its masterly por- 
trait-gallery of dramatis personae and its inexhaustible field for 
interpretation. We can suspect an answer only in the comple- 
mentary nature of the two minds that went to fashion it — in the 
union in this one production of the talents of Massinger and of 
Field. 

A reference to the analysis of collaboration discloses that, so 
far as the actual writing of the play goes, the figure of Novall 
Senior is altogether the work of Massinger. His son, on the 
other hand, is almost entirely the work of Field ; in Massinger's 
share he appears only in the first part of HI, i, and in the scene 
of his surprisal and death. Indeed, both the young gallant him- 
self and all his satellites can safely be put down as creations of the 
actor-dramatist. They have their parallels in his comedy of 
Woman is a Weathercock, down to the page whose pert asides 
of satiric comment are anticipated in the earlier work by those of 
a youngster of identical kidney. The long scene in which we are 
introduced to Beaumelle and given insight into her character and 
mental attitude is Field's throughout ; thereafter she has only to 
act out her already-revealed nature — first as the impudent adul- 
teress and later as the repentent sinner, in both of which roles she 
affords Massinger excellent opportunities to display his favorite 
powers of speech-making. Charalois, Romont, and Rochfort are 
treated at length by both dramatists. 

But in a harmonious collaboration, such as The Fatal- Dozvry 



INTRODUCTION 35 

plainly was, the contributions of the two authors cannot be iden- 
tified with the passages from their respective pens. Each must 
inevitably have planned, suggested, criticised. The question re- 
mains whether we can in any measure determine what part of the 
conception was due to each. Beyond the Novall Junior group 
we cannot establish distinct lines of cleavage. What we can do 
is to suggest the features of the finished product which Field and 
Massinger brought severally to its making — to point out the quali- 
ties of the two men which were joined to produce the play they 
have given us. 

The outstanding excellences of Massinger were a thorough 
grasp of the architectonics of play-making in the building both of 
separate Act and entire drama ; an adherence to an essential unity 
of design and treatment ; a conscientious regard to the details of 
stage-craft ; a vehicle of dignified and at times noble verse, with- 
out violent conceits or lapses into triviality, sustained, lucid, reg- 
ular ; and a genuine eloquence in forensic passages. His chief 
weaknesses were a certain stiffness of execution which made his 
plays appear always as structures rather than organisms, a pon- 
derous monotony of fancy, and an inability to create or repro- 
duce or understand human nature. His characters are normally 
types, their qualities — honor, virtue, bravery, etc. — mere prop- 
erties which they can assume or lay aside at pleasure like gar- 
ments, their conduct governed more by the exigencies of plot 
than by any conceivable psychology. 

The weaknesses of Field — as revealed in his two independent 
comedies — were of a nature more evasive, less capable of defini- 
tion. A tendency to weave too many threads into the action, an 
occasional hasty and skimping treatment of his scenes which 
leaves them unconvincing for lack of sufficient elaboration, and 
a general thinness of design and workmanship are discoverable. 
Defects such as these could be readily corrected by association 
with the single-minded, painstaking, thorough Massinger. On 
the other hand he possessed a lightness of touch, a blithe vigor, 
and a racy, though often obscene, humor foreign to his colleague. 
What is more important, he possessed a considerable first-hand 
knowledge of men and women, and an ability to put them in his 
plays and endow them with something of life — not to conceive 
great figures, such as dominate the imagination, but to reproduce 



36 THE FATAL DOWRY 

with vitality and freshness the sort of people he saw about him — 
in other words, not to create but to depict ; and furthermore Field 
seems to have had a special gift for sketching them rather clearly 
in a very brief compass.^^ Mr. Saintsbury was right in declar- 
ing that Massinger never could draw a woman. But Field could, 
and the critic was rather unfortunate in applying his broadly 
correct observation to the one woman of Massinger's in the 
delineation of whom he had Field to help him ! 

With these facts in mind, the distinctive virtues of The 
Fatal Doivry can be accounted for. Massinger here possessed a 
colleague who had just those talents of insight and verve and 
grasp of life that were denied his own plodding, bookishly 
learned mind. Not only young Novall and his satellites, but 
Beaumelle certainly, and probably Pontalier (whom Massinger 
would have been more likely to degrade to the baseness of No- 
vall's other dependents) may be put down as essentially Field's 
creations, while in the case of the others he was ever at Mas- 
singer's elbow to guard him against blunders, if, indeed, their 
preliminary mapping out of the rather obvious lines along which 
the action and characters must develop were not of itself a suffi- 
ciently sure guide. To Massinger, on the other hand, may safely 
be ascribed the basic conception of such stately figures as Chara- 
Jois and Rochfort, however much Field may have been respon- 
sible for preserving them as fresh and living portraits. 

As to share in plot structure, in the absence of any known 
source, we may conjecture that the germ from which the play 
evolved was the conception of that situation by which Charalois, 
burdened as he is with an immense debt of thankfulness to Roch- 
fort, finds himself suddenly called by the imperative demands of 

11 See the figure of Captain Pouts in Woman is a Weathercock. He 
might easily have been made a mere miles gloriosus; instead he is a real 
man, — coarse, revengeful, dissolute, quarrelsome, hectoring — no doubt at 
heart a coward, but not more absurdly so in the face of his pretensions 
than many of his type in actual life. For characters clearly visualized in 
a few simple strokes, may be noted in the same play Lady Ninny, Lucida, 
and, apart from one speech (M. 356-7) out of character obviously for 
comic effect, Kate; in Amends for Ladies, Ingen. Examples of Field's 
power in more idealistic work may be found in The Knight of Malta in 
the delineation of Montferrat's passion (I, i) and in the scene between 
Miranda and Oriana (V, i). 



INTRODUCTION 37 

honor to do that which will strike his benefactor to the heart. 
The grounding of the hero's debt of gratitude in the story of Mil- 
tiades and Cimon was probably the work of Massinger, of whose 
veneration for things classic we have abundant evidence, while 
to him also, we may believe, was due the shaping of the story in 
such fashion that he had opportunity to exploit his greatest gift 
in no less than two formal trials, one informal trial, and a long 
Act besides given over almost exclusively to verbose disputes 
and exhortations. The circumstances of the discovery of the 
amour of Beaumelle and Novall, while penned by Massinger, are 
more likely an invention of Field's, not only as faintly reminis- 
cent of his Amends for Ladies, but as according better with the 
general spirit of his work. 

Several plays of the Massinger corpus are more striking on 
first acquaintance than The Fatal Dowry, and yet others surpass 
it in regard to this feature or that. It has not the gigantic pro- 
tagonist of A Neiv Way to Pay Old Debts, or the admirable 
structure of that fine play, which works with ever-cumulating 
intensity to one final, tremendous climax. It has not the im- 
pressiveness of The Duke of Milan, or its sheer sweep of tragic 
passion and breathless intensity, or anything so compelling as its 
great scene of gathering jealousy that breaks forth at last in 
murder. Its verse is less poetic than that of The Maid of Honor; 
it lacks the charm of The Great Duke of Florence, and the ethical 
fervor of The Roman Actor. But in utter reality, in convincing 
simulation of life, which holds good under the most exhaustive 
study and makes that study forever continue to yield new sug- 
gestions and new appreciations, and in abundance and inherent 
truthfulness of detailed characterization, it stands alone, and 
these sterling qualities must so outweigh its defects as to insure 
for it a high place, not only among the productions of its authors, 
but among the plays of the Jacobean Period as a whole. 

Stage History — Adaptations — Derivatives 

Beyond the statement on the title-page of the 1632 Quarto, 
that The Fatal Dozvry had been " often acted at the Private House 
in Blackfriars by his Majesties Servants," nothing is known of 
its early stage history. It was not revived after the Restoration, 



38 THE FATAL DOWRY 

and until the publication of the Coxeter edition of Massinger 
seems to have been almost unknown. At last, in 1825, an 
emended version was placed upon the boards by no less an actor 
than the great Macready. January 5 of that year was the date, 
and Drury Lane the place, of its initial performance, Macready 
himself taking the part of Romont, Wallack — Charalois, Terry — 
Rochfort, and Mrs. W. West — Beaumelle. " The play was well 
acted and enthusiastically applauded," says Macready in his 
Reminiscences (p. 228) ; " its repetition for the following Tues- 
day was hailed most rapturously ; but Friday^^ came, and with it 
a crowded house, to find me laboring under such indisposition 
that it was with difficulty I could keep erect without support." 
Macready's serious illness cut short the run of the play, and when 
he was at length (April 11) able to take it up again, the interest 
of the public had abated, and it in consequence was repeated only 
a few times — seven being the total number of its performances. 
The variant of The Fatal Dozvry in which Macready acted was 
the work of Shell, and involved substantial divergences. Ro- 
mont's release from prison follows immediately upon Novall 
Senior's consent to his pardon, and in consequence, together with 
his conversation with Rochfort, is transferred from Act II to the 
close of Act I, while the redemption of Charalois takes place at 
the funeral of his father, which concludes Act II. For the scene 
between Beaumelle and her maids is substituted another coloquy 
of similar import but chastened tone. A brief scene of no especial 
significance is inserted at the beginning of Act III, in the interval 
between which and the preceding Act three weeks are .supposed 
to have elapsed ; the rest of Act III follows much the same course 
as the original, save that the application of Romont to Rochfort 
and his foiling by the stratagem of Beaumelle and Bellapert are 
omitted. A really notable departure is found in the discovery 
of the amour by Charalois. According to Shell, Novall Junior 
and his mistress attempt to elope, but the note which appoints 
their rendezvous falls into Charalois' hands, and he waits for the 
lovers and surprises them, killing Novall off-stage. The Fifth 
Act opens with a scene of a few lines only, in which Beaumont 
bears to Rochfort a request from Charalois to meet him in the 
church yard. Then follows a lugubrious scene in the dead of 

12 Apparently The Fatal Dowry was not performed every day. 



INTRODUCTION 39 

night beside the tomb of the hero's father, to which place are 
transferred the reconcihation between Charalois and Romont, 
and the judgment of Rochfort ! Beaumelle, however, does not 
appear during the trial, and upon the paternal sentence of doom, 
Charalois reveals her body, slain already by his hand. To the 
father he vindicates his action in much the same words as in 
Massinger's last court-room scene, and then, on the appearance 
of Novall Senior clamoring for vengeance and accompanied by 
the minions of the law, stabs himself. 

The version of Shell follows with but occasional exceptions 
the language of the original wherever possible. It makes some 
slight changes in the minor characters. 

Shell's redaction was also presented at Bath on February i8 
and 21, Romont being acted by Hamblin, Charalois by Warde, 
Beaumelle by Miss E. Tree. " Hamblin never appeared to so 
much advantage — in the scene with Novall he reminded one 
strongly of John Kemble," says Genest (Hist. Dra. and Stage in 
Eng., IX, 322). 

At Sadler's Wells, Samuel Phelps, who at that time was reviv- 
ing a number of the old dramas, took the stage in The Fatal 
Dowry on August 27, 1845. This, however, was Shell's version, 
and not the original play of Massinger and Field, as has been 
sometimes supposed. It ranked as one of his four chief pro- 
ductions of that year. He, too, chose for himself the part of 
Romont, which was considered by many his greatest quasi-tragic 
role. Marston appeared as Charalois, G. Bennett as Rochfort, 
and Miss Cooper as Beaumelle. 

The Fatal Dozifry in substantially its own proper form does 
not appear ever to have been acted after Jacobean times. 

If the stage career of The Fatal Dozvry has been meagre, not 
so the extent of its influence. Its literary parenthood begins be- 
fore " the closing of the theatres " and continues even to our own 
day. As early as 1638 it was echoed in The Lady's Trial of 
Ford. Here the figures of Auria, Adurni, Aurelio, and Spinella 
correspond roughly with Charalois, young Novall, Romont, and 
Beaumelle respectively. Auria has gone to the wars, and in his 
absence his wife is pursued by Adurni, who sits at table with her 
in private, when Aurelio breaks in upon them, bursting open the 



40 THE FATAL DOWRY 

doors. Spinella bitterly resents the intrusion and the aspersions 
of the intruder, and when, on the return home of Auria, AureHo 
accuses her to him, it is without shaking his faith in her loyalty. 
Here the analogy ends : spite of Auria's incredulousness there is 
no rupture between the friends; Spinella establishes her inno- 
cence ; and Adurni, while guilty enough in his intent against her, 
shows himself thereafter to be an essentially noble youth, who 
will defend to any length the lady's honor which has become 
subject to question through fault of his, and for this gallant 
reparation, is not only forgiven, but even cherished ever after by 
the husband he had sought to wrong. 

The more steadily one regards the man John Ford and his 
work, the more probable does it appear that the relationship be- 
tween The Fatal Dozvry and The Lady's Trial is not one of mere 
reminiscence or influence, but of direct parentage. That strange 
and baleful figure, who seems almost a modern Decadent born 
out of his time, had a profound interest in moral problems, to the 
study of which he brought morbid ethical sensibilities scarce 
matched before the latter nineteenth century. (Witness his con- 
ception, in The Broken Heart, of a loveless marriage as tanta- 
mount to adultery.) Ford's talent for invention was deficient to 
the extent that he was hard put to it for plots. It is not at all 
unlikely that he surveyed the Massingerian tragedy, and, repelled 
by the conduct of its figures, exclaimed to himself: " I will write 
a play to centre around a situation as incriminating as that of Act 
III of The Fatal Dozvry; but my personages will be worthier 
characters ; I will show a lady who, spite of appearances, is of 
stainless innocence and vindicates her husband's trust in the face 
of evidence ; I will show a friendship strong enough to endure an 
honestly mistaken aspersion put upon the chastity of a wife, 
though the charge is not for one moment credited ; I will show 
that even the would-be seducer may be a fine fellow at bottom, 
and set forth a generous emulation in magnanimity between him 
and the husband. See how finely everything would work out 
with the right sort of people ! " It is at least a plausible hy- 
pothesis. 

Nicholas Rowe, who was the first modern editor of Shake- 
speare, contemplated also an edition of Massinger, but gave up 
the project that he might more safely plunder one of his plays. 



INTRODUCTION 41 

Rowe's famous tragedy, The Fair Penitent, was deliberately 
stolen from The Fatal Doivry. It appeared in 1703, and spite 
of a ludicrous accident^^ which cut short its first run, took rank 
as one of the most celebrated dramas of the English stage. Rowe 
lived during the vogue of the " She-tragedy," while the canons 
of literary criticism of his day demanded a " regular," pseudo- 
classical form and a sententious tone. Accordingly, in his hands 
the chief figure in the play, as is evidenced by the change in title, 
becomes the guilty wife, here called Calista, who is " now the 
evil queen of the heroic plays ; now the lachrymose moralizer ;" 
the theme is indeed her story, not Altamont's (Charalois) — her 
seduction (prior to the nuptuals and before the opening of the 
play), her grief, her plight, her exposure, her death; — she holds 
the centre of the stage to the very end. The number of the 
dramatis pcrsonae is cut down to eight ; all touches of comedy 
are excised ; and the double plot of the original is unified by the 
bold stroke of throwing back to a time before the opening of the 
play the entire episode of the unburied corpse and the origin of 
the hero's friendship with the father of the heroine. 

Discussions of the relative merits of The Fair Penitent and its 
source have been almost invariably acrimonious. Nor is this to 
be wondered at, for after reading the old tragedy with its severe 
dignity and noble restraint, one can scarce peruse without irri- 
tation the cloyingly melifluous, emasculated verse of Rowe — by 

13 During the run of this play one Warren, who was Powell's dresser, 
claimed a right of lying for his master and performing the dead part of 
Lothario — about the middle of the scene Powell called for Warren ; who 
as loudly replied from the stage, "Here Sir" — Powell (who was ignorant 
of the part his man was doing) repeated without loss of time, " Come 
here this moment you Son of a Whore or I'll break all the bones in your 
skin " — Warren knew his hasty temper, and therefore without any reply 
jumped up with all his sables about him, which unfortunately were tied 
to the handles of the bier and dragged after him — but this was not all — 
the laugh and roar began in the audience and frightened poor Warren so 
much that with the bier at his tail he threw down Calista and overwhelmed 
her, with the table, lamp, books, bones, &c. — he tugged till he broke off his 
trammels and made his escape, and the play at once ended with immod- 
erate fits of laughter— Betterton would not suffer The Fair Penitent to 
be played again, till poor Warren's misconduct was somewhat forgotten — 
this story was told to Chetwood by Bowman [Sciolto] — (Genest, II, 
281-2). 



42 THE FATAL DOWRY 

turns grandiloquent and sentimental. The characterization of 
The Fair Penitent is, in the main, insipid, and while Rowe's 
heroine holds a commanding place in her drama to which Beau- 
melle does not pretend, the latter is a. great deal more natural, 
and indeed, for that matter, far more truly a " penitent." An ex- 
ception to the general insipidity is Lothario, who is the analogue 
of the insignificant Novall Junior — " the gay Lothario " — whose 
very name has been ever since a synonym for the graceful, grace- 
less, devil-may-care libertine — whose figure has been the proto- 
type of a long line of similar characters in English literature, 
beginning with Richardson's Lovelace and not yet closed with 
Anthony Hope's Rupert of Hentzau. Beside this striking crea- 
tion, the seducer of Beaumelle shows poorly indeed ; but it is 
doubtful if the old dramatists would have consented to paint 
such an attractive rogue, had they been able ; they wanted their 
Novall to be just the cowardly, dandyfied thing they made him. 
Beyond the portrait of Lothario, small ground for praise can be 
found in The Fair Penitent. That part of the action of The 
Fatal Dowry which under Rowe's treatment antedates the rise 
of the curtain is narrated in the most stiffly mechanical sort of 
exposition ; the action is developed by such threadbare theatrical 
devices as a lost letter and an overheard conversation ; the voluble 
speeches of the several characters are, throughout, declamatory 
effusions almost unbelievably divorced from the apposite utter- 
ance of any rational human being under the circumstances. An 
Altamont who has been assured and reassured from his bride's 
own lips of her aversion for him can fling himself from a quarrel 
with his life-long friend in hysterical defence of her, to seek 
solace in her arms — 

There if in any pause of love I rest 
Breathless with bliss upon her panting breast, 
In broken, melting accents I will swear, 
Henceforth to trust my heart with none save her; 

a Sciolto who has given his daughter a dagger with which to end 
her shame, and then has arrested her willing arm with the prayer 
that she will not dispatch herself until he is gone from the sight 
of her, can thereupon take leave of her with the statement : 

There is I know not zvJiat of sad presage 
That tells me I shall never see thee more. 



INTRODUCTION 43 

The play, which enjoyed an immense fame, high contemporary 
appreciation, and a long career on the stage, remains a curious 
memorial of the taste of a bygone day. 

It is noteworthy that in The Fair Penitent Horatio, as Romont 
in all modern reproductions of The Fatal Dozvry, is the great 
acting part — not the husband. 

In 1758 was produced at the Hay market a drama entitled The 
Insolvent or Filial Piety, from the pen of Aaron Hill. In the 
preface it is said — according to Genest (IV, 538) — " Wilks about 
30 years before gave an old manuscript play, called the Guiltless 
Adulteress, to Theo. Gibber who was manager of what then was 
the Summer Gompany — after an interval of several years this 
play was judged to want a revisal to fit it for representation — 
Aaron Hill at the request of Theo. Gibber almost new wrote the 
whole, and the last act was entirely his in conduct, sentiment and 
diction." In reality. The Insolvent is The Fatal Dozvry over 
again, altered to tragicomedy, and with the names of the char- 
acters changed. The first two Acts of Hill's play proceed much- 
after the manner of its prototype, with close parallels in language. 
From thenceforward, however, the action diverges. The bride, 
Amelia, resists the further attentions of her former sweetheart. 
They are none the less observed and suspected by her husband's 
friend, who speaks of the matter to both her father and her lord. 
The former promises to observe her with watchful eye ; Ghalons, 
the husband, is at first resentful of the imputation, but presently 
yields to his friend's advice, that he pretend a two-days' journey, 
from which he will return unexpectedly. During his absence, 
his wife's maid introduces the lover into her mistress' chamber 
while Amelia sleeps. There Ghalons surprises him kneeling be- 
side the bed, and kills him. Amelia stabs herself, but the con- 
fession of her maid reveals her innocence, and her wound is 
pronounced not mortal. 

It has been suggested (Biographia Dramatica, II, 228 — quoted 
by Phelan, p. 59, and Schwarz, p. 74) that in Hill's Zara (adap- 
tation of the Zaire of Voltaire), also, Nerestan's voluntary return 
to captivity in order to end that of his friends, whom he lacked 
the means to ransom with gold, was suggested by the behavior 
of Gharalois ; but this can be no more than a coincidence, as it 
here but reproduces what is in the French original. 



44 THE FATAL DOWRY 

A long interval, and finally, in the dawn of the twentieth cen- 
tury, there appeared the next and latest recrudescence of The 
Fatal Dowry. This was Der Graf von Charolais, ein Trauerspiel, 
by Richard Beer-Hofmann, disciple of the Neo-Romantic School 
or Vienna Decadents, a coterie built about the leadership of Hugo 
von Hofmannsthal. Beer-Hofmann's play — a five-Act tragedy 
in blank verse — was produced for the first time at the Neue 
Theatre, Berlin, on December 24, 1904, and was received with 
considerable acclaim. Unlike Rowe, he gives full credit to his 
source, from which he has drawn no less extensively than the 
author of The Fair Penitent. Unlike Rowe, he goes back to the 
old dramatists in the matter of construction, placing upon the 
stage once more the episode of the unburied corpse and the noble 
son ; he even outdoes The Fatal Dozvry in this respect, by allow- 
ing the first half of his plot three Acts instead of two, with only 
two Acts for the amour and its tragic consequences. In his hands 
the hero again becomes the central figure ; in fact, the three prin- 
cipal versions of this donnee suggest by their titles their respective 
viewpoints : The Fatal Dozvry ; The Fair Penitent; Der Graf von 
Charolais. DER GRAF VON CHAROLAIS, be it observed; 
— this new redaction is no longer the tale of a " fatal dowry ;" 
no longer is the first part of the dual theme merely introductory 
and accessory — it is coordinate with the second. Beer-Hofmann 
has sought to achieve a kind of unity from his double plot by 
making his fundamental theme not the adulterous intrigue, but 
the destiny of Charolais, thus converting the play into a Tragedy 
of Fate, which pursues the hero inexorably through all his life. 
This strictly classical motif animating the donnee of a Jacobean 
play reproduced in the twentieth century presents, as might be ex- 
pected, the aspect of an exotic growth, which is not lessened by 
the extreme sensuousness of treatment throughout, such as has 
always been one of the cardinal and distinctive qualities of the 
Decadent School the world over. But as a contrast in the dra- 
matic technique and verse of Jacobean and modern times, Der 
Graf von Charolais is extremely interesting. The difference is 
striking between the severe simplicity of three centuries ago, and 
the elaborate stagecraft of to-day, its insistence on detail, and 
studied care in the portraiture of minor characters. Yet minutia 
do not make tragedy, and while their superficial realism and the 



INTRODUCTION 45 

congeniality of the contemporary point of view undeniably lend 
to Beer-Hofmann's redaction a palatability and a power to in- 
terest and appeal which its original does not possess to the 
modern reader, yet a discriminating critic will turn back to the 
old play with a feeling that, for all its stiffness and conventions, 
he breathes there a more vital air. To the enrichment of his 
theme Beer-Hofmann contributes every ingenious effect possible 
to symbolism, delicate suggestion, and scenic device ; this exterior 
decoration is gorgeous in its color and seductive warmth, but no 
amount of such stuff can compensate for the fundamental flaw 
in the crucial episode of his tragedy. In spite of the care which 
he has lavished on the scene between his heroine and her seducer, 
the surrender of the wife — three years married, a mother, and 
loving both husband and child — remains insufficiently motivated 
and sheerly inexplicable, and by this vital, inherent defect the 
play must fall. Moreover, it lacks a hero. Romont can no 
longer play the main part he did in former versions ; he is re- 
duced to a mere shadow. In a tragedy of Fate, which blights a 
man's career, phase by phase, with persistent, relentless hand, 
that man must necessarily be the central figure, and, of right, 
should be an imposing figure — a protagonist at once gigantic and 
appealing, who will draw all hearts to him in pity and terror at 
the helpless, hopeless struggle of over-matched greatness and 
worth ; whereas Charolais — 

The case of Charolais is peculiar. A priori we should expect 
him to be just such a personage, yet his conduct throughout is 
best explainable as that of a man dominated, not by noble im- 
pulses, but by an extreme egoism — a man acutely responsive 
alike to his sense-impressions and his feverish imagination, and 
possessed of an exaggerated squeamishness tov/ards the ugly and 
the unpleasant. When, in the First Act, he bursts into tears, he 
confesses it is not for his father that he weeps, but for his own 
hard lot; he suffers from his repugnance to the idea of his 
father's corpse rotting above ground — a repugnance so intoler- 
able to him that he will yield his liberty to escape it. He pur- 
poses to cashier the innkeeper because the sight of the lecherous 
patrons of his hostelry has disgusted him, and he alters his re- 
solve and forgives the fellow, not from any considerations of 
mercy, but because the mental picture of the man's distress tor- 



46 THE FATAL DOWRY 

tures him. And by similar personal repugnances reacting on 
egoism is his behavior in the denouement to be accounted for, and 
in this light becomes logically credible and clearly understood. 
Few practices are more hazardous or unjust than judging an 
artist by his objective creations ; but an ignoble protagonist, as 
Charolais is represented, is in such ill accord with any conceivable 
purpose on the part of Beer-Hofmann, and so unlikely to have 
been intended by him, that one cannot help strongly suspecting 
that the author unconsciously projected himself into the char- 
acter and thus revealed his own nature and point of view. In 
any case he has presented for his hero a whimperer who can com- 
mand neither our sympathy nor our respect when he cries above 
the bodies of his benefactor and her who is that benefactor's 
daughter, his own wife, and the mother of his child : 

1st dies Stiick denn aiis, 

Weil jene starbf Und ich? An mich dcnkt keinerf 

We have come a long way from Massinger and Field and the 
early seventeenth century. The shadow of the old dramatists 
reaches far, even to our own time ; we have seen their play re- 
developed, but never improved upon, by pseudo-classicist, and 
popularizer, and Decadent hyper-aesthete. That which was the 
vulnerable point in the original production — its two-fold plot — 
has been still for every imitator a stone of stumbling. Rowe tried 
to escape it by the suppression of the antecedent half, and the 
fraction which remained in his hand was an artificial thing with- 
out the breath of life, that had to be attenuated and padded out 
with speechifying to fill the compass of its five Acts. Beer-Hof- 
mann tried to escape it by superimposing an idea not proper to the 
story, and 'beneath the weight of this his tragedy collapsed in the 
middle, for its addition over-packed the drama, and left him not 
room enough to make convincing the conduct of his characters. 
The first essayers, who attacked in straightforward fashion their 
unwieldy theme, succeeded best ; all attempts to obviate its essen- 
tial defect have marred rather than mended. Perhaps the theme 
is by its nature unsuited to dramatic treatment, and yet there is 
much that is dramatic about that theme, as is evinced by the fact 
that playwrights have been unable to let it lie. 



EDITOR'S NOTE ON TEXT 

The present text aims to reproduce exactly the Quarto edition of 
1632, retaining its punctuation, spelling, capitals, italics, and stage 
directions — amending only the metrical alignment.^ Mere mistakes of 
printing — inverted and broken letters — are restored, but are duly cata- 
logued in the foot notes. The division into scenes, as made by Gifford, 
and his affixment of the locus of each, are inserted into the text, inclosed 
in brackets. In the foot notes are recorded all variants of all subse- 
quent editions. Differences of punctuation are given, if they could 
possibly alter the meaning, but not otherwise — nor mere differences 
in wording of stage directions, nor differences in spelling, nor elision 
for metre. In the Quarto the elder Novall is sometimes designated 
before his lines as Novall Senior, sometimes merely as Novall — no con- 
fusion is possible, since he and his son are never on the stage at the 
same time. Gififord and Symons always write Novall Senior, while 
Coxeter and Mason write Novall alone in I, i, and Novall Senior there- 
after. I have not thought it worth while to note the variants of the 
several texts on this point. 

^ This, of course, may require the substitution of a capital for a small letter, 
as when a mid-line word of the Quarto becomes in the re-alignment the first 
word of the verse. 



47 



Q. — The Quarto — 1632 

C. — Coxeter's edition, 1759 

M. — Monck Mason's edition, 1779 

G. — Gifford's [2nd.] edition, 1813 

S. — Symons' (Mermaid) edition, 1893 

f. — and all later editions 

s. d. — stage direction 



THE 



F A T A L L 

DOWRY: 

A 

TRAG EDY: 



As it hath beene often Acted at the Pri- 

uate Houfe in Blackefryers, by his 

Maiefties Seruants, 

Written by P, M, and N, F, 



LONDON, 

Printed by Iohn Norton, for Francis 
Constable, and are to be fold at his 
fhop at the Crane, in Pauls Church- 
yard. 1632. 



Charalois 

Romont. 

Charmi. 

Nouall Sen. 

Liladam. 

DtiCroy. 

Rochfort. 

Baumont, 

Pontalier. 

Malotin. 

Beaumelle. 



Florimel. 

Bella pert 

Aynier. 

Nouall lun 

Aduocates. 

Creditors S 

Officers. 

Prieft. 

Taylor. 

Barber. 

Perfumer. 



[Page.] 



[Presidents, Captains, Soldiers, Mourners, Gaoler, Bailiffs, Servants.] 

G. and S. omit Officers, and add those roles which are enclosed in brackets. 

They add explanations of each character, also changing the order. For 
Gaoler, S. reads Gaolers. 

Baumont — M., f spell Beaumont. 

C. & M. add after the list of Dramatis Personae: The Scene, Dijon in Bur- 
gundy. 



50 



The Fatall Dowry: 

A Tr a ge d y : 

Act, primus, Scaena prima: 

[A Street before the Court of Justice] 
Enter Charaloyes ivifh a paper, Romont, Charmi. 

Char mi 

SIR, I may moue the Court to ferue your will, 
But therein fhall both wrong you and my felfe. 
Rom. Why thinke you fo fir? 
Charmi. 'Caufe I am familiar 

With what will be their anfwere : they will fay, 

'Tis againft law, and argue me of Ignorance 5 

For offering them the motion. 

Rom. You know not, Sir, 

How in this caufe they may difpence with Law, 
And therefore frame not you their anfwere for them, 
But doe your parts. 

Charmi. I loue the caufe fo well. 

As I could runne, the hazard of a checke for 't. 10 

Rom. From whom? 

Charmi. Some of the bench, that watch to give it, 

More then to doe the office that they fit for : 

10 As— That (C, M. 

12, 16, etc. then — modernized to than throughout by all later eds. 

51 



52 THE FATAL DOWRY 

But giue me (fir) my fee. 

Roin. Now you are Noble. 

Charmi. I fhall deferue this better yet, in giuing 
My Lord fome counfell, (if he pleafe to heare it) 15 

Then I fhall doe with pleading. 

Rom. What may it be, fir? 

Charmi. That it would pleafe his Lordfhip, as the prefidents, 
And Counfaylors of Court come by, to ftand 
Heere, and but shew your felfe, and to fome one 

Or two, make his requeft : there is a minute 20 

When a mans prefence fpeakes in his owne caufe. 
More then the tongues of twenty aduocates. 

Rom. I haue vrg'd that. 
Enter Rochfort : DiiCroye. 

Charmi. Their Lordfhips here are coming, 

I muft goe get me a place, you'l finde me in Court, 
And at your feruice Exit Charmi. 

Rom. Now put on your Spirits. 25 

Du Croy. The eafe that you prepare your felfe, my Lord, 
In giuing vp the place you hold in Court, 
Will proue (I feare) a trouhle in the State, 
And that no flight one. 

Roch. Pray you fir, no more. 

Rom. Now fir, lofe not this of^erd means : their lookes 30 

Fixt on you, with a pittying earneftneffe, 
Inuite you to demand their furtherance 
To your good purpofe. — This fuch a dulneffe 
So foolifh and vntimely as — 

Du Croy. You know him. 

Roch. I doe, and much lament the fudden fall 35 

Of his braue houfe. It is young Charloyes. 
Sonne to the Marfhall, from whom he inherits 
His fame and vertues onely. 

13, end s. d. : Gives him his purse (G., S. 
19 your — him (G., S. 

33 This fuch — This is such (S. 

34 . -? (C, f. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 53 

Rom. Ha, they name you. 

Du Croye. His father died in prifon two daies fince. 

Roch. Yes, to the fhame of this vngrateful State ; 40 

That fuch a Mafter in the art of warre, 
So noble, and fo highly meriting, 
From this forgetfull Country, fhould, for want 
Of meanes to fatisfie his creditors. 

The fummes he tooke vp for the generall good, 45 

Meet with an end fo infamous. 

Rom. Dare you euer 

Hope for like opportunity? 

Du Croye. My good Lord ! 

Roch. My wifh bring comfort to you. 

Dii Croye. The time calls vs. 

Roch. Good morrow Colonell. 

Exeunt Roch. Du Croye. 

Rom. This obftinate fpleene. 

You thinke becomes your forrow, and forts wel 5^ 

With your blacke fuits : but grant me wit, or iudgement, 
And by the freedome of an honeft man. 
And a true friend to boote, I sweare 'tis fhamefull. 
And therefore flatter not your felfe with hope, 

Your fable habit, with the hat and cloake, 55 

No though the ribons helpe, haue power to worke 'em 
To what you would : for thofe that had no eyes, 
To fee the great acts of your father, will not, 
From any fafhion forrow can put on. 
Bee taught to know their duties. 

Char. If they will not, 60 

They are too old to learne, and I too young 
To giue them counfell, fince if they partake 
The vnderftanding, and the hearts of men, 
They will preuent my words and teares : if not. 

What can perfwafion, though made eloquent 65 

With griefe, worke vpon fuch as haue chang'd natures 

45 fiimmes — sum (C, M. 

46 and 47 Dare . . . oportimity? — printed as one line in Q. 
47, end s. d. : They salute him as they pass by (G., S. 

56, after No —, (C, f. 
56 'em — them (G., S. 



54 THE FATAL DOWRY 

With the moft fauage beaft ? Bleft, bleft be euer 

The memory of that happy age, when iuftice 

Had no gards to keepe off wrongd innocence, 

From flying to her fuccours, and in that 70 

Affurance of redreffe : where now (Romont) 

The damnd, with more eafe may afcend from Hell, 

Then we ariue at her. One Cerberus there 

Forbids the paffage, in our Courts a thoufand, 

As lowd, and fertyle headed, and the Client 75 

That wants the fops, to fill their rauenous throats, 

Muft hope for no acceffe : why fhould I then 

Attempt iinpoffibilities : you friend, being 

Too well acquainted with my dearth of meanes, 

To make my entrance that way? 

Rom. Would I were not. 80 

But Sir, you haue a caufe, a caufe fo iust, 
Of fuch neceffitie, not to be deferd, 
As would compell a mayde, whose foot was neuer 
Set ore her fathers threfhold, nor within 

The houfe where fhe was borne, euer fpake word, 85 

Which was not vfhered with pure virgin blufhes, 
To drowne the tempeft of a pleaders tongue, 
And force corruption to giue backe the hire 
It tooke againft her : let examples moue you. 

You fee great men in birth, efteeme and fortune, 90 

Rather then lofe a fcruple of their right, 
Fawne bafely vpon fuch, whofe gownes put off. 
They would difdaine for Seruants. 

Char. And to thefe 

Can I become a fuytor? 

Rom. Without loffe. 

Would you confider, that to gaine their fauors, 95 

Our chafteft dames put off their modefties, 
Soldiers forget their honors, vfurers 

70 and in that — and, in that, (C, f. 

71 where — whereas (C, M. 

90 great men — men great (C, f. 

92 and 93 And . . . /jo'/orf— printed as one line in Q. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 55 

Make facrifice of Gold, poets of wit, 

And men religious, part with fame, and goodneffe? 

Be therefore wonne to vfe the meanes, that may lOO 

Aduance your pious ends. 

Char. You fhall orecome. 

Rom. And you receiue the glory, pray you now practife. 
'Tis well. Enter Old Nouall, Liladam, 

Char. Not looke on me ! & j Creditors. 

Rom. You muft haue patience 

Of^er't againe. 

Char. And be againe contemn'd? 

Nou. I know whats to be done. 

1 Cred. And that your Lordfhip 105 
Will pleafe to do your knowledge, we offer, firft 

Our thankefull hearts heere, as a bounteous earneft 
To what we will adde. 

Nou. One word more of this 

I am your enemie. Am I a man 
Your bribes can worke on ? ha ? 

Lilad. Friends, you miftake no 

The way to winne my Lord, he muft not heare this. 
But I, as one in fauour, in his fight, 
May harken to you for my profit. Sir, 
I pray heare em. 

Nou. Tis well. 

Lilad. Obferue him now. 

Nou. Your caufe being good, and your proceedings fo, 1 15 

Without corruption ; I am your friend, 
Speake your defires. 

2 Cred. Oh, they are charitable, 
The Marfhall ftood ingag'd vnto vs three. 

Two hundred thoufand crownes, which by his death 

103 'Tis zi'cll. — G. & S. assign to Char, and follow with s. d. : Tenders 
his petition. The change is uncalled for. 
103 s. d., after Nouall — G. & S. insert Advocates. 

103 and 104 You . . . againe. — printed as one line in Q. 

104 Offer't— Offer it (M.. f. 

no, end s. d. : Aside to Cred. (G., S. 

114 / pray heare em. — Pray hear them. (G. — / pray hear them. (S. 

114 Tis — It is (G. 

116 ; — M., f. omit. 



56 THE FATAL DOWRY 

We are defeated of. For which great loffe I20 

We ayme at nothing but his rotten flefh, 
Nor is that cruelty. 

I Cred. I haue a fonne, 

That talkes of nothing but of Gunnes and Armors, 
And fweares hee'll be a foldier, tis an humor 

I would diuert him from, and I am told 125 

That if I minifter to him in his drinke 
Powder, made of this banquerout Marfhalls bones, 
Prouided that the carcafe rot aboue ground 
'Twill cure his foolifh frenfie. 

Nou. You fhew in it 

A fathers care. I haue a fonne my felfe, 130 

A fafhionable Gentleman and a peacefull : 
And but I am affur'd he's not fo giuen. 
He fhould take of it too, Sir what are you? 

Char. A Gentleman. 

Nou. So are many that rake dunghills. 

If you haue any fuit, moue it in Court. 135 

I take no papers in corners. 

Rom. Yes 
As the matter may be carried, and hereby 
To mannage the conuayance Follow him. 

Lil. You are rude. I fay, he fhall not paffe. Exit Nouall. 

Rom. You fay fo. Char: and Aduocates 

On what affurance ? 140 

For the well cutting of his Lordfhips cornes, 
Picking his toes, or any office elfe 
Neerer to bafeneffe ! 

Lil. Looke vpon mee better. 

Are thefe the enfignes of fo coorfe a fellow? 
Be well aduis'd. 

123 Armors — Armour (C, M., G. 

127 banquerout — here and elsewhere by later eds. always bankrupt. 

133 Sir — assigned to Char, by G., who adds s. d. : Tenders his petition. 

136 and 137 Yes . . . hereby — printed as one line in Q. 

137 hereby — whereby (M., G. 
139 You are — You're (C., M. 

139, after /o . — ? (C., M.— ! (G., S. 

139 s. d. — The exit of Novall is placed earlier, at 1. 136, by G. & S. 



THE FATAL DOVv'RY 57 

Rom. Out, rogue, do not I know, (Kicks him) 145 

Thefe glorious vveedes fpring from the fordid dunghill 
Of thy officious bafeneffe? wert thou worthy 
Of anything from me, but my contempt, 
I would do more then this, more, you Court-fpider. 

Lil. But that this man is lawleffe ; he fhould find 150 

that I am valiant. 

1 Cred. If your eares are faft, 

Tis nothing. Whats a blow or two ? As much — 

2 Cred. Thefe chaftifements, as vfefull are as frequent 
To fuch as would grow rich. 

Rom. Are they fo Rafcals? 

I will be- friend you then. 

/ Cred. Beare witneffe, Sirs. 155 

Lil. Trueth, I haue borne my part already, friends. 
In the Court you fhall haue more. Exit. 

Rom. I know you for 

The worft of fpirits, that striue to rob the tombes 
Of what is their inheritance, from the dead. 

For vfurers, bred by a riotous peace : 160 

That hold the Charter of your wealth & freedome, 
By being Knaues and Cuckolds that ne're prayd, 
But when you feare the rich heires will grow wife. 
To keepe their Lands out of your parchment toyles : 
And then, the Diuell your father's cald vpon, 165 

To inuent fome ways of Luxury ne're thought on. 
Be gone, and quickly, or He leaue no roome 
Vpon your forhead for your homes to fprowt on, 
Without a murmure, or I will vndoe you ; 
For I will beate you honeft. 

145 G. & S. omit s. d. 

149, after this, — s. d. ; Beats him (G. — Kicks him (S. 

154 and 155 Are . . . then — printed as one line in Q. 

155, after then. — s. d. : Kicks them (C, f. 

157 haue — hear (M. 

159 from — omitted by C., f. 

162, after Cuckolds — , (€., M. — ; (G., S. 

162 ne'er — never (M. 

162 prayd — pray (G. 

166 To—T (M. 

168 forhead — foreheads (G. 



58 THE FATAL DOWRY 

I Cred. Thrift forbid. 170 

We will beare this, rather then hazard that. Ex: Creditor. 

Enter Charloyes. 

Rom. I am fome-what eas'd in this yet. 

Char. (Onely friend) 

To what vaine purpofe do I make my forrow, 
Wayte on the triumph of their cruelty ? 

Or teach their pride from my humilitie, 175 

To thinke it has orecome ? They are determin'd 
What they will do : and it may well become me, 
To robbe them of the glory they expect 
From my fubmiffe intreaties. 

Rom. Thinke not fo, Sir, 

The difficulties that you incounter with, 180 

Will crowne the vndertaking — Heauen ! you weepe : 
And I could do fo too, but that I know, 
Theres more expected from the fonne and friend 
Of him, whofe fatall loffe now fhakes our natures, 
Then fighs, or teares, (in which a village nurfe 185 

Or cunning ftrumpet, when her knaue is hangd. 
May ouercome vs.) We are men (young Lord) 
Let vs not do like women. To the Court, 
And there fpeake like your birth : wake fleeping iustice, 
Or dare the Axe. This is a way will fort 190 

With what you are. I call you not to that 
I will fhrinke from my felfe, I will deferue 
Your thankes, or fuller with you — O how brauely 
That fudden fire of anger fhewes in you ! 

Giue fuell to it, fince you are on a fhelfe, I95 

Of extreme danger fufifer like your felfe. Exeunt. 

171 then — this form retained in C. 
171 s. d. Creditor — Creditors (G., S. 
195 yon are — you're (C, M. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 59 

[SCENE II] 

[The Court of Justice] 

Enter Rochfort, Noiiall Se. Charmi. Du Croye, Aduocates, 
Baumont, and Officers, and j. Prefidents. 

Du Croye. Your Lordfhip's feated. May this meeting proue 
profperous to vs, and to the generall good 
Of Burgundy. 

Nou. Se. Speake to the poynt. 

Du Croy. Which is, 

With honour to difpofe the place and power 

Of primier Prefident, which this reuerent man 5 

Graue Rochfort, (whom for honours fake I name) 
Is purpof'd to refigne a place, my Lords, 
In which he hath with fuch integrity, 
Perform'd the firft and heft parts of a ludge. 

That as his life tranfcends all faire examples lO 

Of fuch as were before him in Dijon, 
So it remaines to thofe that fhall fucceed him, 
A Prefident they may imitate, but not equall. 

Roch. I may not fit to heare this. 

Du Croy. Let the loue 

And thankfulnes we are bound to pay to goodneffe, 15 

In this o'recome your modeftie. 

Roch. My thankes 

For this great fauour fhall preuent your trouble. 
The honourable truft that was impos'd 
Vpon my weakneffe, fince you witneffe for me. 

It was not ill difcharg'd, I will not mention, 20 

Nor now, if age had not depriu'd me of 
The little ftrength I had to gouerne well, 

first s. d., 3 Prefidents — Presidents, . . . three Creditors (G., S. 

1 Lordfhip's feated. May — lordships seated, may (G., S. 

2 and 3 profperous . . . Burgundy. — printed as a line in Q. 
7, after resigne — ; (M., f. 

13 Prefident — precedent (C., f. 

13 Prefident they — precedent that they (C., M. 

15 we are — we're (C, M. 



60 THE FATAL DOWRY 

The Prouince that I vndertooke, forfake it. 

Nou. That we could lend you of our yeeres. 

Dn Croy. Or ftrength. 

Noil. Or as you are, perfwade you to continue 25 

The noble exercife of your knowing iudgement. 

Roch. That may not be, nor can your Lordfhips goodnes. 
Since your imployments haue confer'd vpon me 
Sufficient wealth, deny the vse of it. 

And though old age, when one foot's in the graue, 30 

In many, when all humors elfe are fpent 
Feeds no affection in them, but defire 
To adde height to the mountaine of their riches : 
In me it is not fo, I reft content 

With the honours, and eftate I now poffeffe, 35 

And that I may haue liberty to vse, 
What Heauen ftill bleffing my poore induftry, 
Hath made me Mafter of : I pray the Court 
To eafe me of my 'burthen, that I may 

Employ the fmall remainder of my life, 40 

In lining well, and learning how to dye fo. 

Enter Romont, and Charalois. 

Rom. See fir, our Aduocate. 

Du Croy. The Court intreats. 

Your Lordfhip will be pleafd to name the man. 
Which you would haue your fucceffor, and in me, 
All promife to confirme it. 

Roch. I embrace it, 45 

As an affurance of their fauour to me. 
And name my Lord Nouall. 

Du Croy. The Court allows it. 

Roch. But there are futers waite heere, and their caufes 
May be of more neceffity to be heard, 

And therefore wifh that mine may be defer'd, 5° 

And theirs haue hearing. 

Du Croy. If your Lordfhip pleafe 

To take the place, we will proceed. 

35 the—th' (C, M. 
50 And — / (G., S. 

51, end — s. d. : To Nov. sen. (G., S. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 61 

Charm. The caufe 

We come to offer to your Lordfhips cenfure, 
Is in it felfe fo noble, that it needs not 

Or Rhetorique in me that plead, or fauour 55 

From your graue Lordfhips, to determine of it. 
Since to the prayfe of your impartiall iuftice 
(Which guilty, nay condemn'd men, dare not fcandall) 
It will erect a trophy of your mercy 
With married to that Iuftice. 

Nou. Se. Speaks to the caufe. 60 

Charm. I will, my Lord : to fay, the late dead Marfhall 
The father of this young Lord heer, my Clyent, 
Hath done his Country great and faith full feruice, 
Might taske me of impertinence to repeate, 

What your graue Lordfhips cannot but remember, 65 

He in his life, become indebted to 
Thefe thriftie men, I will not wrong their credits, 
By giuing them the attributes they now merit, 
And fayling by the fortune of the warres, 

Of meanes to free himfelfe, from his ingagements, 70 

He was arrefted, and for want of bayle 
Imprifond at their fuite : and not long after 
With loffe of liberty ended his life. 
And though it be a Maxime in our Lawes, 

All fuites dye with the perfon, thefe mens malice 75 

In death find matter for their hate to worke on, 
Denying him the decent Rytes of buriall, 
Which the fworne enemies of the Chriftian faith 
Grant freely to their flaues ; may it therefore pleafe 
Your Lordfhips, fo to fafhion your decree, 80 

That what their crueltie doth forbid, your pittie 
May giue allowance to. 

Nou. Se. How long haue you Sir 

Practis'd in Court? 

Charmi. Some twenty yeeres, my Lord. 

60 With— Which (C, M., G. 

64 taske — tax (M. 

66 become — became (M., f. 

76 find — finds (G., S. 

82 and 83 How . . . Court? — printed as one line in Q. 



62 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Noil. Sc. By your groffe ignorance it fhould appeare, 
Not twentie dayes. 

Channi. I hope I haue giuen no caufe 85 

In this, my Lord — 

Nou. Sc. How dare you nioue the Court, 

To the difpenfing with an Act confirmd 
By Parlament, to the terror of all banquerouts? 
Go home, and with more care perufe the Statutes : 

Or the next motion fauoring of this boldneffe, 90 

May force you to leape (againft your will) 
Ouer the place you plead at. 

Channi. I forefaw this. 

Rom. Why does your Lordfhip thinke, the mouing of 
A caufc more honeft then this Court had euer 

The honor to determine, can deforue 95 

A checke like this? 

Nou. Sc. Strange boldnes ! 

Rom. Tis fit f reedome : 

Or do you conclude, an aduocate cannot hold 
His credit with the ludge. vnlefle he ftudy 
His face more then the caufe for which he pleades? 

Ciiarmi. Forbeare. 

Rom. Or cannot you, that haue the power 100 

To qualifie the rigour of the Lawes, 
When you are pleafed, take a little from 
The ftrictnefie of your fowre decrees, enacted 
In fauor of the greedy creditors 
Againft the orethrowne dobter? 

Nan. Sc. Sirra, you that prate 105 

Thus fawcily. what are you? 

Rom. Why He tell you, 

Thou purple-colour'd man, I am one to whom 
Thou oweft the meanes thou haft of fitting there 
A corrupt Elder. 

Cliarmi. Forbeare. 

85 and 86 / hope . . . Lord — — printed as one line in Q. 
91, after you — G. & S. insert , sir. 
93, after Why —, (C, f. 

106 tell you — tell thee (G. 

107 / 0)11 — I'm (C., M. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 63 

Rom. The nofe thou wear.st, is my gift, and thofe eyes no 

That meete no obiect fo bafe as their Mafter, 
Had bin, long fince, torne from that guiltie head, 
And thou thy felfe flaue to fome needy Swiffe, 
Had I not worne a fword, and vs'd it better 
Then in thy prayers thou ere didft thy tongue. 115 

Noil. Se. Shall fuch an Infolence paffe vnpunifht? 

Charmi. Heere mee. 

Rom. Yet I, that in my feruice done my Country, 
Difdaine to bee put in the fcale with thee, 
Confeffe my felfe vnworthy to bee valued 

With the leaft part, nay haire of the dead Marfhall, 120 

Of whofe so many glorious vndertakings, 
Make choice of any one, and that the meaneft 
Performd againft the fubtill Fox of France. 
The politique Lewis, or the more defperate Swiffe, 
And 'twyll outwaygh all the good purpofe, 125 

Though put in act, that euer Gowneman practizd. 

Nou. Se. Away with him to prifon. 

Rom. If that curfes, 

Vrg'd iuftly, and breath'd forth fo, euer fell 
On thofe that did defcrue them ; let not mine 

Be fpent in vaine now, that thou from this inftant 130 

Mayeft in thy feare that they will fall vpon thee, 
Be fenfibic of the plagues they fhall bring with them. 
And for denying of a little earth. 
To couer what remaynes of our great foldyer : 

May all your wiues proue whores, your factors theeues, 135 

And while you Hue, your riotous heires vndoe you. 
And thou, the patron of their cruelty. 
Of all thy Lordfhips Hue not to be owner 
Of fo much dung as will conceale a Dog, 

Or what is worfe, thy felfe in. And thy yeeres, 140 

To th' end thou mayft be wretched, I wifh many. 
And as thou haft denied the dead a graue, 
May mifery in thy life make thee defire one, 
Which men and all the Flements keepe from thee : 

115 ere — ever (C, M., G. 

125 purpofe — purposes (G., S. 



64 THE FATAL DOWRY 

I haue begun well, imitate, exceed. 145 

Roch. Good counfayle were it, a prayfe worthy deed. Ex. 

Du Croye. Remember what we are. Officers with Rom. 

Chara. Thus low my duty 

Anfweres your Lordfhips counfaile. I will vse 
In the few words (with which I am to trouble 

Your Lordfhips eares) the temper that you wifh mee, 150 

Not that I feare to fpeake my thoughts as lowd, 
And with a liberty beyond Romont: 
But that I know, for me that am made vp 
Of all that's wretched, fo to hafte my end. 

Would feeme to moft, rather a willingneffe I55 

To quit the burthen of a hopeleffe life. 
Then fcorne of death, or duty to the dead. 
I therefore bring the tribute of my prayfe 
To your feueritie, and commend the luftice. 

That will not for the many feruices 160 

That any man hath done the Common wealth 
Winke at his leaft of ills : what though my father 
Writ man before he was fo, and confirmd it. 
By numbring that day, no part of his life, 

In which he did not feruice to his Country ; 165 

Was he to be free therefore from the Lawes, 
And ceremonious forme in your decrees? 
Or elfe becaufe he did as much as man 
In thofe three memorable ouerthrowes 

At Granfon, Morat, Nancy, where his Mafter, 170 

The warlike Charloyes (with whofe mif fortunes 
I beare his name) loft treafure, men and life. 
To be excuf'd, from payment of thofe fummes 
Which (his owne patri mony fpent) his zeale, 
To ferue his Countrey, forc'd him to take vp? 175 

Nou. Se. The prefident were ill. 

Chara. And yet, my Lord, this much 

I know youll grant ; After thofe great defeatures, 
Which in their dreadfull ruines buried quick, Enter officers. 
Courage and hope, in all men but himfelfe, 

145, end — s. d. : Aside to Charalois (G., S. 

146 C, f. insert , after counfayle and omit , after it. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 65 

He forft the proud foe, in his height of conqueft, i8o 

To yield vnto an honourable peace. 

And in it faued an hundred thoufand Hues, 

To end his owne, that was fure proofe againft 

The fcalding Summers heate, and Winters froft, 

Illayres, the Cannon, and the enemies fword, 185 

In a moft loathfome prifon. 

Du Croy. Twas his fault 

To be fo prodigall. 

Nou. Se. He had fro the ftate 

Sufficent entertainment for the Army. 

CJiar. Sufficient? My Lord, you fit at home, 
And though your fees are boundleffe at the barre : 190 

Are thriftie in the charges of the warre, 
But your wills be o'beyd. To thefe I turne. 
To thefe foft-hearted men, that wifely know 
They are onely good men, that pay what they owe. 

2 Cred. And fo they are. 

I Cred. 'Tis the City Doctrine, 195 

We ftand bound to maintaine it. 

Char. Be conftant in it. 

And fince you are as mercileffe in your natures, 
As bafe, and mercenary in your meanes 
By which you get your wealth, I will not vrge 

The Court to take away one fcruple from 200 

The right of their lawes, or one good thought 
In you to mend your difpofition with. 
I know there is no mufique in your eares 
So pleafing as the groanes of men in prifon. 
And that the teares of widows, and the cries 205 

180 proud — S. omits. 

185 enemies — enemy's (C, f. 

186 — '8 Lines in Q. are : In . . . prifon. \ Twas . . . prodigall. \ He . . . 
Army. 

187 fro — from (C, f. 

189 Sufficent? My Lord—Sufficient, my Lord? (C, f. G. & S. have 
lords. 

194 They arc — They're (M., f. 

195 'Tis — It is (G., S. 

201 right — See Notes; after or — G. inserts wish in brackets, which S. 
accepts in text. 



66 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Of famifh'd Orphants, are the feafts that take you. 

That to be in your danger, with more care 

Should be auoyded, then infectious ayre, 

The loath'd embraces of difeafed women, 

A flatterers poyfon, or the loffe of honour. 2io 

Yet rather then my fathers reuerent duft 

Shall want a place in that faire monument, 

In which our noble Anceftors lye intomb'd, 

Before the Court I ofifer vp my felfe 

A prifoner for it : loade me with thofe yrons 215 

That haue worne out his life, in my beft ftrength 

He run to th' incounter of cold hunger, 

And choose my dwelling where no Sun dares enter, 

So he may be releas'd. 

1 Cred. What meane you fir? 

2 Adiio. Onely your fee againe : ther's fo much fayd 220 
Already in this caufe, and fayd fo well, 

That fhould I onely ofifer to fpeake in it, 
I fhould not bee heard, or laught at for it. 

I Cred. 'Tis the firft mony aduocate ere gaue backe, 
Though hee fayd nothing. 

Roch. Be aduis'd, young Lord, 225 

And well confiderate, you throw away 
Your liberty, and ioyes of life together: 
Your bounty is imployd vpon a fubiect 
That is not fenfible of it, with which, wife man 

Neuer abus'd his goodneffe ; the great vertues 230 

Of your dead father vindicate themfelues, 
From thefe mens malice, and breake ope the prifon. 
Though it containe his body. 

Noil. Se. Let him alone. 

If he loue Lords, a Gods name let him weare 'em, 
Prouided thefe confent. 

217 th' incounter — the incounter (C, f. 

217, after cold — , (G., S. — a plausible but unnecessary emendation. 

223 not he — be or not (G. — or not he (S. 

234 Lords — cords (C, f. 

234 a — in (G., S. 

234 'em — them (G., S. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 67 

Char. I hope they are not 235 

So ignorant in any way of profit, 
As to neglect a poffi'bility 
To get their owne, by feeking it from that 
Which can returne them nothing, but ill fame, 
And curfes for their barbarous cruelties. 240 

3 Cred. What thinke you of the offer? 

2 Cred. Very well. 

1 Cred. Accept it by all meanes : let's fhut him vp, 
He is well-fhaped and has a villanous tongue, 

And fhould he ftudy that way of reuenge, 

As I dare almoft fweare he loues a wench, 245 

We haue no wiues, nor neuer fhall get daughters 

That will hold out againft him. 

Du Croy. What's your anfwer? 

2 Cred. Speake you for all. 

I Cred. Why let our executions 

That lye vpon the father, bee return'd 
Vpon the fonne, and we releafe the body. 250 

Noil. Sc. The Court muft grant you that. 

Char. I thanke your Lordfhips, 

They haue in it confirm'd on me fuch glory, 
As no time can take from me : I am ready, 
Come lead me where, you pleafe : captiuity 

That comes with honour, is true liberty. 255 

Exit Charmi, Cred. & Officers. 

Nou. Se. Strange rafhneffe. 

Roch. A braue refolution rather, 

Worthy a better fortune, but howeuer 
It is not now to be difputed, therefore 
To my owne caufe. Already I haue found 

Your Lordfhips bountifull in your fauours to me ; 260 

And that fhould teach my modefty to end heere 
And preffe your loues no further. 

243 n in tongue inverted in Q. 

244 M in reuenge inverted in Q. 

246 never — ever (C, M. 

247 n in anfwer inverted in Q. 

After 255, s. d. : C. & M. substitute Charalois for Charmi; G. & S. insert 
Charalois before Charmi. 



68 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Du Croy. There is nothing 

The Court can grant, but with affurance you 
May aske it and obtaine it. 

Roch. You incourage 

A bold Petitioner, and 'tis not fit 265 

Your fauours fhould be loft. Befides, 'tas beene 
A cuftome many yeeres, at the furrendring 
The place I now giue vp, to grant the Prefident 
One boone, that parted with it. And to confirme 
Your grace towards me, againft all fuch as may 270 

Detract my actions, and life hereafter, 
I now preferre it to you. 

Du Croy. Speake it freely. 

Roch. I then defire the liberty of Romont, 
And that my Lord Nouall, whofe priuate wrong 

Was equall to the iniurie that was done 275 

To the dignity of the Court, will pardon it. 
And now figne his enlargement. 

Nou. Se. Pray you demand 

The moyety of my eftate, or any thing 
Within my power, but this. 

Roch. Am I denyed then — 

My first and laft requeft? 

Du Croy. It muft not be. 280 

2 Pre. I haue a voyce to giue in it. 

J Pre. And I. 

And if perfwafion will not worke him to it. 
We will make knowne our power. 

Nou. Se. You are too violent. 

You fhall haue my confent — But would you had 

Made tryall of my loue in any thing 285 

But this, you fhould haue found then — But it skills not. 
You haue what you defire. 

Roch. I thanke your Lordfhips. 

Du Croy. The court is vp, make way. Ex. omncs, practer 

264 and 265 You . . . fit — printed as one line in Q. 

266 'tas — 't has (C, M., S. ; 't'as (G. 

279 and 280 Am . . . requeft f — printed as one line in Q. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 69 

Roch. I follow you — Roch. & Beaumont. 

Baumont. 

Baum. My Lord. 

Roch. You are a fcholler, Baumont, 

And can fearch deeper into th' intents of men, 290 

Then thofe that are leffe knowing — How appear'd 
The piety and braue behauior of 
Young Charloyes to you ? 

Baiim. It is my wonder, 

Since I want language to expreffe it fully ; 
And fure the Collonell — 

Roch. Fie/ he was faulty — 295 

What prefent mony haue I ? 

Baum. There is no want 

Of any fumme a priuate man has ufe for. 

Roch. 'Tis well : 

I am ftrangely taken with this Charaloyes; 
Me thinkes, from his example, the whole age 

Should learne to be good, and continue fo. 300 

Vertue workes ftrangely with vs : and his goodneffe 
Rifing aboue his fortune, feemes to me 
Princelike, to will, not afke a courtefie. Exeunt. 

288 and 289 / follow you — Baumont — printed as one line in Q. 
290 th' — the (G., S. 

295 and 296 Fie . . . IF — printed as one line in Q. 

296 There is — There's (G., S. 



Act, fecundus, Sccena prima: 

[A Street before the Prison] 
Enter Pontalier, Malotin, Baumont. 

Mai. T^ IS ftrange. 

J Baiim. Me thinkes fo. 

Pont. In a man, but young, 

Yet old in iudgement, theorique, and practicke 
In all humanity (and to increafe the wonder) 
Religious, yet a Souldier, that he fhould 

Yeeld his free liuing youth a captiue, for 5 

The freedome of his aged fathers Corpes, 
And rather choofe to want lifes neceffaries. 
Liberty, hope of fortune, then it fhould 
In death be kept from Chriftian ceremony. 

Malo. Come, 'Tis a golden prefident in a Sonne, 10 

To let ftrong nature haue the better hand, 
(In fuch a cafe) of all affected reafon. 
What yeeres fits on this Charolois ? 

Baum. Twenty eight. 

For fince the clocke did strike him 17 old 

Vnder his fathers wing, this Sonne hath fought, 15 

Seru'd and commanded, and fo aptly both. 
That fometimes he appear'd his fathers father, 
And neuer leffe then's fonne ; the old man's vertues 
So recent in him, as the world may fweare, 
Nought but a faire tree, could fuch fayre fruit beare. 20 

Pont. But wherefore lets he fuch a barbarous law, 
And men more barbarous to execute it, 

2 m in iudgement inverted in Q. 

13 fits— fit (C, f. 

13 and 14 Twenty eight . . . old — printed as one line in Q. 

18 then's — than his (M. 

70 



THE FATAL DOWRY 71 

Preuaile on his foft difpofition, 

That he had rather dye aliue for debt 

Of the old man in prifon, then he fhould 25 

Rob him of Sepulture, confidering 

Thefe monies borrow'd bought the lenders peace, 

And all their meanes they inioy, nor was diffus'd 

In any impious or licencious path? 

Bail. True : for my part, were it my fathers trunke, 30 

The tyrannous Ram-heads, with their homes fhould gore it, 
Or, caft it to their curres (than they) leffe currifh. 
Ere prey on me fo, with their Lion-law, 
Being in my free will (as in his) to fhun it. 

Pont. Alaffe! he knowes him felfe (in pouerty) loft: 35 

For in this parciall auaricious age 
What price beares Honor? Vertue? Long agoe 
It was but prays'd, and f reez'd, but now a dayes 
'Tis colder far, and has, nor loue, nor praife. 

Very prayfe now f reezeth too : for nature 40 

Did make the heathen, far more Chriftian then, 
Then knowledge vs (leffe heathenifh) Chriftian. 

Malo. This morning is the funerall. 

Pont. Certainely ! 

And from this prifon 'twas the fonnes requeft 

That his deare father might interment haue. Recorders 45 

See, the young fonne interd a liuely graue. Mttfique, 

Baiim. They come, obferue their order. 
Enter Fnnerall. Body borne by 4. Captaines and Sonldiers, 

25 he — they (C, M., G. 

28 their — the (G., S. 

28 was — were (G., S. 

40 G. & S. insert The at beginning of line. 

43, after funerall . — f (G., S. 

44 and 45 G. & S. punctuate with . at end of 44 and , at end of 45. The 
emendation is plausible, even probable, but not warranted by necessity. 

45 and 46 G. & S. omit s. d., Recorders Mufiqu^, 

46 interd — interr'd (M. — enter' d (G., S. See Notes. 

After 47, s. d. — G. & S. render: Solemn music. Enter the Funeral Pro- 
cession. The Coffin borne by four, prececdcd by a Priest. Captains, Lieu- 
tenants, Ensigns, and Soldiers ; Mourners, Scutcheons &c., and very good 
order. Romont and Charalois. follozucd by the Gaolers and Officers, with 
Creditors, meet it. 



72 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Mourners, Scutchions, and very good order. Charolois, 

and Romont meet it. Char, f peaks. Rom. weeping, 

jolemne Mufiqiie, j Creditors. 

Char. How like a filent ftreame fhaded with night, 
And ghding foftly with our windy fighes ; 

Moues the whole frame of this folemnity ! 5<3 

Teares, fighs, and blackes, filling the fimily, 
Whilft I the onely murmur in this groue 
Of death, thus hollowly break forth ! Vouchfafe 
To ftay a while, reft, reft in peace, deare earth. 

Thou that brought'ft reft to their vnthankfuU lyues, 55 

Whofe cruelty deny'd thee reft in death : 
Heere ftands thy poore Executor thy fonne. 
That makes his life prifoner, to bale thy death ; 
Who gladlier puts on this captiuity. 

Then Virgins long in loue, their wedding weeds : 60 

Of all that euer thou haft done good to, 
Thefe onely haue good memories, for they 
Remember beft, forget not gratitude. 
I thanke you for this laft and friendly loue. 

And tho this Country, like a viperous mother, 65 

Not onely hath eate vp vngratefully 
All meanes of thee her fonne, but laft thy felfe, 
Leauing thy heire fo bare and indigent. 
He cannot rayfe thee a poore Monument, 

Such as a flatterer, or a vfurer hath. yo 

Thy worth, in euery honeft breft buyldes one, 
Making their friendly hearts thy funerall ftone. 

Pont. Sir. 

Char. Peace, O peace, this fceane is wholy mine. 
What weepe ye, fouldiers? Blanch not, Romont weepes. 75 

Ha, let me fee, my miracle is eaf'd, 
The iaylors and the creditors do weepe ; 
Euen they that make vs weepe, do weepe themfelues. 
Be thefe thy bodies balme : thefe and thy vertue 
Keepe thy fame euer odoriferous, 80 

After 53 G. & S. insert s. d. : To the Bearers, who set down the Coffin. 
After 64 G. & S. insert s. d. : To the Soldiers. 
75, after What —! (C., f. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 73 

Whilft the great, proud, rich, vndeferuing man, 

AHue ftinkes in his vices, and being vanifh'd. 

The golden calfe that was an Idoll dect 

With marble pillars let, and Porphyrie, 

Shall quickly both in bone and name confume, 85 

Though wrapt in lead, fpice, Searecloth and perfume 

I Cred. Sir. 

Char. What ! Away for fhame : you prophane rogues 
Muft not be mingled with thefe holy reliques : 

This is a Sacrifice, our fhowre fhall crowne 90 

His fepulcher with Oliue, Myrrh and Bayes 
The plants of peace, of forrow, victorie, 
Your teares would fpring but weedes. 

1 Cred. Would they not fo? 
Wee'll keepe them to ftop bottles then : 

Rom. No ; keepe 'em 

For your owne fins, you Rogues, till you repent : 95 

You'll dye elfe and be damn'd. 

2 Cred. Damn'd, ha ! ha, ha. 
Rom. Laugh yee? 

5 Cred. Yes faith, Sir, weel'd be very glad 

To pleafe you eyther way. 

1 Cred. Y'are ne're content. 
Crying nor laughing. 

Rom. Both with a birth fhee rogues. 

2 Cred. Our wiues. Sir, taught vs. 100 
Rom. Looke, looke, you flaues, your thankleffe cruelty 

And fauage manners, of vnkind Dijon, 
Exhauft thefe fiouds, and not his fathers death. 

I Cred. Slid, Sir, what would yee, ye'are fo cholericke? 

93 Would they not fo? — Would they so? (C, M., G. — Would they? 
Not so. (S. See Notes. 

94, 95, and 96 Lines in Q. : Wee'll . . . then : \ No . . . Rogues, | Till . . . 
damn'd. | Damn'd . . . ha. 

94 'em — them (G., S. 

95 Rogues — rogue (S. 

97 weel'd — we would (M., f. 

98 Y'are — Ye're (C., M. — You are (G., S. 

100 fhee — ye (M., f. The emendation is probably correct. 

100, after rogues . — ? (G., S. 

104 yee, ye'are — you, you're (C, M., G. 



74 THE FATAL DOWRY 

2 Cred. Moft foldiers are fo yfaith, let him alone: 105 
They haue little elfe to Hue on, we haue not had 

A penny of him, haue we ? 

3 Cred. 'Slight, wo'd you haue our hearts ? 
I Cred. We haue nothing but his body heere in durance 

For all our mony. 

Prieft. On. 

Char. One moment more, 

But to beftow a few poore legacy es, no 

All I haue left in my dead fathers rights, 
And I haue done. Captaine, weare thou thefe fpurs 
That yet ne're made his horfe runne from a foe. 
Lieutenant, thou, this Scarfe, and may it tye 

Thy valor, and thy honeftie together : 115 

For fo it did in him. Enfigne, this Curace 
Your Generalls necklace once. You gentle Bearers, 
Deuide this purfe of gold, this other, ftrow 
Among the poore : t is all I haue. Romont, 

(Weare thou this medall of himfelfe) that like 120 

A hearty Oake, grew'ft clofe to this tall Pine, 
Euen in the wildeft wildernefe of war. 
Whereon foes broke their fwords, and tyr'd themfelues ; 
Wounded and hack'd yee were, but neuer fell'd. 

For me my portion prouide in Heauen : 125 

My roote is earth'd, and I a defolate branch 
Left fcattered in the high way of the world. 
Trod vnder foot, that might haue bin a Columne, 
Mainly fupporting our demolifh'd houfe, 

This would I weare as my inheritance. 130 

And what hope can arife to me from it, 
When I and it are both heere prifoners ? 
Onely may this, if euer we be free, 
Keepe, or redeeme me from all infamie. Song. Miificke. 

105 2 Cred. — I Cred. (M., probably misprint. 

106 They have — They've (C, M. 
106 We have — We've (C, f. 

108 We haue — we've (M. 
Ill rights — right (M. 
132 both heere — here both (M. 

134 s d. : Song. Muficke. — i. e. the First Song, on page 145. — intro- 
duced here in text by all editors save Gififord and Coleridge. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 75 

/ Cred. No farther, looke to 'em at your owne perill. 135 

2 Cred. No, as they pleafe : their Mafter's a good man. 
I would they were the Burmiidas. 

Saylor. You muft no further. 

The prifon hmits you, and the Creditors 
Exact the ftrictneffe. 

Rom. Out you wooluish mungrells ! 

Whofe braynes fhould be knockt out, hke dogs in luly, 140 

Lefte your infection poyfon a whole towne. 

Char. They grudge our forrow : your ill wills perforce 
Turnes now to Charity : they would not haue vs 
Walke too farre mourning, vfurers reliefe 
Grieues, if the Debtors haue too much of griefe. Exeunt. 145 



[SCENE II] 

[A Room in Rochfort's House. ^ 
Enter Beaumelle: Florimell: Bellapert. 

Beau. I prithee tell me, Florimell, why do women marry? 

Flor. Why truly Madam, I thinke, to lye with their hus- 
bands. 

Bella. You are a f oole : She lyes, Madam, women marry husbands, 
To lye with other men. 5 

Flor. Faith eene fuch a woman wilt thou make. By this 
light, Madam, this wagtaile will fpoyle you, if you take 
dehght in her licence. 

Beau. Tis true, Florimell: and thou wilt make me too good 

for a yong Lady. What an electuary found my father out for 10 

his daughter, when hee compounded you two my women ? 

for thou, Florimell, art eene a graine to heauy, fimply for a 

wayting Gentlewoman. 

Flor. And thou Bellapert, a graine too light. 

J 
135 'cm — them (G., S. 

137, after were — at inserted by C, f. 

137 Saylor — misprint for laylor, — emended by C, f. 

143 Turnes — Turn (M., f. 

6 eene — even (G., S. 
12 eene — even (G.. S. 



76 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Bella. Well, go thy wayes goodly wifdom, whom no body 15 

regards. I wonder, whether be elder thou or thy hood : you 
thinke, becaufe you ferue my Laydes mother, are t,2 yeeres 
old which is a peepe out, you know. 

Flor. Well fayd, wherligig. 

Bella. You are deceyu'd : I want a peg ith' middle. 20 

Out of thefe Prerogatiues ! you thinke to be mother of the 
maydes heere, & mortifie em with prouerbs : goe, goe, gouern 
the fweet meates, and waigh the Suger, that the wenches 
fteale none : fay your prayers twice a day, and as I take it, you 
haue performd your function. 25 

Flor. I may bee euen with you. 

Bell. Harke, the Court's broke vp. Goe helpe my old Lord 
out of his Caroch, and fcratch his head till dinner time. 

Flor. Well. Exit. 

Bell. Fy Madam, how you walke ! By my may den-head 30 

you looke 7 yeeres older then you did this morning : why, 
there can be nothing vnder the Sunne vanuable, to make you 
thus a minute. 

Bean. Ah my fweete Bellapert thou Cabinet 
To all my counfels, thou doft know the caufe 35 

That makes thy Lady wither thus in youth. 

Bel. Vd'd-light, enioy your wifhes : whilft I Hue, 
One way or other you fhall crowne your will. 
Would you haue him your husband that you loue. 

And can't not bee ? he is your feruant though, 40 

And may performe the office of a husband. 

Bean. But there is honor, wench. 

Bell. Such a difeafe 

There is in deed, for which ere I would dy. — 

Bean. Prethee, diftinguifh me a mayd & wife. 

Bell. Faith, Madam, one may beare any mans children, 45 

Tother muft beare no mans. 

17 ferue — served (G., S. See Notes. 

18 Peepe— pip (M., f. 
20 ith' — in the (G., S. 
22 em — them G., S. 

37 Vd'd—Uds—(M., f. 
40 can't — can it (M., f. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 77 

Beau. What is a husband ? 

Bell. Physicke, that tumbling in your belly, will make you 
ficke ith' ftomacke : the onely diftinction betwixt a husband 
and a feruant is : the firft will lye with you, when he pleafe ; 
the laft shall lye with you when you pleafe. Pray tell me, 50 

Lady, do you loue, to marry after, or would you marry, to 
loue after. 

Beau. I would meete loue and marriage both at once. 

Bell. Why then you are out of the fafhion, and wilbe con- 
temn'd; for (He affure you) there are few women i'th world, 55 

but either they haue married firft, and loue after, or loue 
firft, and marryed after : you muft do as you may, not as you 
would: your fathers will is the Goale you muft fly to: if a 
husband approach you, you would haue further off, is he your 
loue ? the leffe neere you. A husband in thefe days is but a 60 

cloake to bee oftner layde vpon your bed, then in your 
bed. 

Baum. Humpe. 

Bell. Sometimes you may weare him on your fhoulder, 
now and then vnder your arme : but feldome or neuer let him 65 

couer you : for 'tis not the fafhion. 

Enter y. Noiiall, Pontalier, Malotin, Lilladam, Aymer. 

Noil. Beft day to natures curiofity, 
Starre of Dijurn, the luftre of all France, 
Perpetuall fpring dwell on thy rofy cheekes, 

Whofe breath is perfume to our Continent, 70 

See Flora turn'd in her varieties. 

Bell. Oh diuine Lord! 

Noil. No autumne, nor no age euer approach 
This heauenly piece, which nature hauing wrought, 

48 ith' — in the (G., S. 

49 pleafe — pleases (C, M., G. 
55 He — / will (G., S. 

55 i'th — in the (M., f. 

59 your — you (M. (in corrigenda at end of vol. 4), f. A correct emen- 
dation. 

60 loiie? the leffe ncarc you. — love the less near you? (M., f. 
63 Humpe — Hum (C, M. ; Humph (G., S. 

64, after fhoulder, — C. & M. insert and. 

67 Nou. — C., f. affix Junior throughout. 

71 turn'd — trimm'd (G., S. Emend, sug. by M. 



78 THE FATAL DOWRY 

She loft her needle and did then defpaire, 75 

Euer to work fo liuely and fo faire. 

Lilad. Vds light, my Lord one of the purles of your band 
is (without all difcipline falne) out of his ranke. 

Nou. How? I would not for a 1000 crownes she had feen't. 
Deare Liladam, re forme it. 80 

Bell. O Lord : Per fe, Lord, quinteffence of honour, 
fhee walkes not vnder a weede that could deny thee any 
thing. 

Bamn. Prethy peace, wench, thou doft but blow the fire, 
that flames too much already. Lilad. Aym. trim Nouall, 85 

Aym. By gad, my Lord, you haue the diui- whilft Bell her 
neft Taylor of Chriftendome ; he hath made Lady. 

you looke like an Angell in your cloth of Tiffue doublet. 

Pont. This is a three-leg'd Lord, ther's a frefh affault, oh 
that men fhould fpend time thus ! 90 

See fee, how her blood driues to her heart, and ftraight 
vaults to her cheekes againe. 

Malo. What are thefe? 

Pont. One of 'em there the lower is a good, foolifh, kna- 
uifh fociable gallimaufry of a man, and has much taught 95 

my Lord with finging, hee is mafter of a muficke houfe : the 
other is his dreffing blocke, vpon whom my Lord layes all 
his cloathes, and fafhions, ere he vouchfafes 'em his owne 
perfon ; you fhall fee him i'th morning in the Gally-foyft, at 
noone in the Bullion, i'th euening in Quirpo, and all night 100 

in — 

Malo. A Bawdy houfe. 

Pont. If my Lord deny, they deny, if hee af^rme, they af- 
firme : they fkip into my Lords caft skins fome twice a yeere, 
and thus they liue to eate, eate to Hue, and Hue to prayfe my 105 

Lord. 

78 difcipline falne) out — discipline, fallen out (C, f. 

81 Lord: Per fe, Lord — lord per se, lord! (G., S. 

94 'em — them (G., S. 

95 taught — caught (M., f. 

98 'em — them (G., S. 

99 i'th — in the (G., S. 

100 Quirpo — thus C. & G. ; M. & S. read Querpo. 

104 fkip — See Notes. 

105 liue to eate — for liue, G. reads flatters; S reads lie, which is prob- 
ably right. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 79 

Malo. Good fir, tell me one thing. 

Pont. What's that? 

Malo. Dare thefe men euer fight, on any caufe ? 

Pont. Oh no, 't would fpoyle their cloathes, and put their no 

bands out of order. 

Nou. Mrs, you heare the news : your father has refign'd 
his Prefidentfhip to my Lord my father. 

Malo. And Lord Charolois vndone foreuer. 

Pont. Troth, 'tis pity, fir. 

A brauer hope of fo affur'd a father 115 

Did neuer comfort France. 

Lilad. A good dumbe mourner. 

Aym. A filent blacke. 
As if he had come this Chriftmas from St. Omers, 

Nou. Oh fie vpon him, how he weares his cloathes ! 
To fee his friends, and return'd after Twelfetyde. 120 

Lilad. His Colonell lookes fienely like a drouer. 

Nou. That had a winter ly'n perdieu i'th rayne. 

Aym. What, he that weares a clout about his necke. 
His cufifes in's pocket, and his heart in's mouth ? 

Nou. Now out vpon him ! 

Beau. Seruant, tye my hand. 125 

How your lips blufh, in fcorne that they fhould pay 
Tribute to hands, when lips are in the way ! 

Noil. I thus recant, yet now your hand looks white 
Becaufe your lips robd it of fuch a right. 

Mounfieur Aymour, I prethy fing the fong 130 

Deuoted to my Mrs. Cant. Muficke. 

After the Song, Enter Rochfort, & Baiimont. 

Baum. Romont will come, fir, ftraight. 

Roch. 'Tis well. 

Beau. My Father. 

Nouall. My honorable Lord. 

Roch. My Lord Nouall this is a vertue in you, 

112 Mrs.— Must (C, M. 
122 i'th — in the (G., S. 

125, end — s. d. : Nov. jun. kisses her hand. (G., S. 
128, after recant, — s. d. : Kisses her (G,. S. 

131 Cant. — i. e. the Second Song, on page 145. — introduced here in 
text by all editors save Giflford and Coleridge. 



80 THE FATAL DOWRY 

So early vp and ready before noone, 135 

That are the map of dreffing through all France. 

Noil. I rife to fay my prayers, fir, heere's my Saint. 

Roch. Tis well and courtly ; you muft giue me leaue, 
I haue fome priuate conference with my daughter, 
Pray vfe my garden, you fhall dine with me. 140 

Lilad. Wee'l waite on you. 

Nou. Good morne vnto your Lordfhip, 
Remember what you haue vow'd to his Mrs. Exeunt 

Bean. Performe I muft. omnes praeter Roch. Daug. 

Roch. Why how now Beaumelle, thou look'ft not well. 
Th' art fad of late, come cheere thee, I haue found 
A wholefome remedy for thefe mayden fits, 145 

A goodly Oake whereon to twift my vine, 
Till her faire branches grow vp to the ftarres. 
Be neere at hand, fucceffe crowne my intent, 
My bufineffe fills my little time fo full, 

I cannot ftand to talke: I know, thy duty 150 

Is handmayd to my will, efpecially 
When it prefents nothing but good and fit. 

Beau. Sir, I am yours. Oh if my teares proue true, Exit 
Fate hath wrong'd loue, and will deftroy me too. Daug 

Enter Romont keeper 

Rom. Sent you for me, fir? 

Roch. Yes. 

Rom. Your Lordfhips pleafure ? 155 

Roch. Keeper, this prifoner I will fee forth comming 
Vpon my word — Sit downe good Colonell. Exit keeper. 
Why I did wifh you hither, noble fir. 
Is to aduife you from this yron carriage. 

Which, fo afifected, Romont, you weare, 160 

To pity and to counfell yee fubmit 
With expedition to the great Nouall: 

144 Th' art — Thou art (G., S. 

153 tcarcs — thus C. & M. ; — G. & S. read fears, which seems a fitter 

word here. 

153 s. d. — G. & S. read, Aside and exit. 

159 affected — affectedly (S. 
159, after you — C., M., & G. insert will. 

161 yee — you (C., f. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 81 

Recant your fterne contempt, and flight neglect 

Of the whole Court, and him, and opportunity, 

Or you will vndergoe a heauy cenfure 165 

In publique very fhortly. 

Rotn. Hum hum: reuerend fir, 

I haue obferu'd you, and doe know you well. 
And am now more afifraid you know not me, 
By wifhing my fubmiffion to Noitall, 

Then I can be of all the bellowing mouthes 170 

That waite vpon him to pronounce the cenfure. 
Could it determine me torments, and fhame. 
Submit, and craue forgiueneffe of a beaft? 
Tis true, this bile of ftate weares purple Tiffue. 

Is high fed, proud : fo is his Lordfhips horfe, 175 

And beares as rich Caparifons. I know. 
This Elephant carries on his back not onely 
Towres, Caftles, but the ponderous republique, 
And neuer ftoops for't, with his ftrong breath trunk 
Snuffes others titles, Lordfhips, Offices, 180 

Wealth, bribes, and lyues, vnder his rauenous iawes. 
Whats this vnto my f reedome ? I dare dye ; 
And therefore afke this Cammell, if thefe bleffings 
(For fo they would be vnderftood by a man) 

But moUifie one rudeneffe in his nature, 185 

Sweeten the eager relifh of the law, 
At whofe great helme he fits : helps he the poore 
In a iuft bufineffe ? nay, does he not croffe 
Euery deferued fouldier and fcholler. 

As if when nature made him, fhe had made 190 

The generall Antipathy of all vertue? 
How fauagely, and blafphemoufly hee fpake 
Touching the Generall, the graue Generall dead, 

164 opportunity — opportunely (M., f. The emendation is probably cor- 
rect. V 

165 Hum hum — omitted by C, M., & G. 
172, after me — C. & M. insert to. 

174 bile— boil (C, f. See Notes. 
179 breath — breath' d (M., f. 
193 graue — brave (M., f. 



82 THE FATAL DOWRY 

I muft weepe when I thinke on't. 

Roch. Sir 

Rom. My Lord, 

I am not ftubborne, I can melt, you fee, ige 

And prize a vertue better then my Hfe: 
For though I be not learnd, I euer lou'd 
That holy Mother of all iffues, good, 
Whofe white hand (for a Scepter) holds a File 

To pollifh rougheft cuftomes, and in you 200 

She has her right: fee, I am calme as fleepe, 
But when I thinke of the groffe iniuries 
The godleffe wrong done, to my Generall dead, 
I raue indeed, and could eate this Nouall 
A Ifoule-effe Dromodary. 

Roch. Oh bee temperate, 205 

Sir, though I would perfwade. Fie not conftraine : 
Each mans opinion freely is his owne. 
Concerning any thing or any body, 
Be it right or wrong, tis at the fudges perill. 

Enter Banmond, 

Bail. Thefe men. Sir, waite without, my Lord is come too. 210 

Roch. Pay 'em thofe fummes vpon the table, take 
Their full releafes : ftay, I want a witneffe : 
Let mee intreat you Colonell, to walke in, 
And ftand but by, to fee this money pay'd, 

It does concerne you and your friends, it was 215 

The better caufe you were fent for, though fayd otherwife. 
The deed fhall make this my requeft more plaine. 

Rom. I fhall obey your pleafure Sir, though ignorant 
To what is tends? Exit Seruant: Romont. 

Roch. Worthieft Sir, Enter Charolois. 220 

You are moft welcome : fye, no more of this : 
You haue out-wept a woman, noble Charolois. 

194 and 195 My Lord . . . fee, — printed as one line in Q. 

198, after iffues — M., f. omit ,. A correct emendation. 

205 Ifoule-effe — misprint for sotd-less — corrected by C, f. 

211 'em — them (G., S. 

215 friends — friend (M., f. 

219 is — it (C, f. 

219 s. d., Seruant — Beaumont (G., S. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 83 

No man but has, or muft bury a father. 

Char. Graue Sir, I buried forrow, for his death, 
In the graue with him. I did neuer thinke 225 

Hee was immortall, though I vow I grieue, 
And fee no reafon why the vicious, 
Vertuous, valiant and vnworthy man 
Should dye alike. 

Roch. They do not. 

Char. In the manner 

Of dying. Sir, they do not, but all dye, 230 

And therein dififer not : but I haue done. 
I fpy'd the liuely picture of my father. 
Faffing your gallery, and that caft this water 
Into mine eyes : fee, f oolifh that I am. 
To let it doe fo. 

Roch. Sweete and gentle nature, 235 

How filken is this well comparatiuely 
To other m.en ! I haue a fuite to you Sir. 

Char. Take it, tis granted. 

Roch. What? 

Char. Nothing, my Lord. 

Roch. Nothing is quickly granted. 

Char. Faith, my Lord, 

That nothing granted, is euen all I haue, 240 

For (all know) I haue nothing left to grant. 

Roch. Sir, ha' you any fuite to me? Ill grant 
You fomething, any thing. 

Char. Nay furely, I that can 
Giue nothing, will but fue for that againe. 245 

No man will grant mee any thing I fue for. 
But begging nothing, euery man will giue't. 

Roch. Sir, the loue I bore your father, and the worth 
I fee in you, fo much refembling his. 

Made me thus fend for you. And tender heere Drazues a 250 

What euer you will take, gold, lewels, both, Curtayne. 

228 man — Men (C, M. 
242 ha' — have (C, f. 

250 s. d. : Drawes a Curtayne. — G. & S. add, and discovers a table with 
money and jewels upon it. 



84 THE FATAL DOWRY 

All, to fupply your wants, and free your felfe. 

Where heauenly vertue in high blouded veines 

Is lodg'd, and can agree, men fhould kneele downe, 

Adore, and facrifice all that they haue ; 255 

And well they may, it is fo feldome feene. 

Put off your wonder, and heere freely take 

Or fend your feruants. Nor, Sir, fhall you vfe 

In ought of this, a poore mans fee, or bribe, 

Vniuftly taken of the rich, but what's 260 

Directly gotten, and yet by the Law. 

Char. How ill, Sir, it becomes thofe haires to mocke? 

Roch. Mocke? thunder ftrike mee then. 

Char. You doe amaze mee: 

But you fhall wonder too, I will not take 

One fingle piece of this great heape : why fhould I 265 

Borrow, that haue not meanes to pay, nay am 
A very bankerupt, euen in flattering hope 
Of euer rayfing any. All my begging. 
Is Romonts libertie. Enter Romont^ Creditors loaden zvith 

Roch. Heere is your friend, mony. Baumont. 

Enfranchift ere you fpake. I giue him you, 270 

And Charolois. I giue you to your friend 
As free a man as hee ; your fathers debts 
Are taken off. 

Char. How ? 

Rom. Sir, it is moft true. 

I am the witnes. 

/ Cred. Yes faith, wee are pay'd. 

2 Cred. Heauen bleffe his Lordfhip, I did thinke him wifer. 275 

5 Cred. He a ftates-man, he an aff e Pay other mens debts ? 

I Cred. That he was neuer bound for. 

Rom. One more fuch 

Would faue the reft of pleaders. 

Char. Honord Rochfort. 

266 not — no (G. 

269 s. d. — G. & S. omit loaden zvith vwny. 

270 Enfranchift — Enfranchise (C. 
270, after him — G. & S. insert to. 

277 and 278 Lines in Q. : That . . . for. \ One . . . pleaders. \ Honord 
Rochfort. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 85 

Lye ftill my toung and bufhes, cal'd my cheekes, 

That offter thankes in words, for fuch great deeds. 280 

Rocli. Call in my daughter : ftill I haue a fuit to you. Baum. 
Would you requite mee. Exit. 

Rom. With his life, affure you. 

Roch. Nay, would you make me now your debter, Sir. 
This is my onely child : what fhee appeares. Enter Baum 
Your Lordfhip well may fee her education, Beau. 285 

Followes not any : for her mind, I know it 
To be far fayrer then her fhape, and hope 
It will continue fo : if now her birth 
Be not too meane for Charolois, take her 

This virgin by the hand, and call her wife, 290 

Indowd with all my fortunes : bleffe me fo. 
Requite mee thus, and make mee happier. 
In ioyning my poore empty name to yours. 
Then if my ftate were multiplied ten fold. 

Char. Is this the payment. Sir, that you expect? 295 

Why, you participate me more in debt. 
That nothing but my life can euer pay, 
This beautie being your daughter, in which yours 
I muft conceiue neceffitie of her vertue 

Without all dowry is a Princes ayme, 300 

Then, as fhee is, for poore and worthleffe I, 
How much too worthy ! Waken me, Romont, 
That I may know I dream't and find this vanifht 

Rom. Sure, I fleepe not. 

Roch. Your fentence life or death. 

Char. Faire Beaumelle, can you loue me? 

279 bufhes. cal'd — blushes, scald (C. G., S.— blushes scald (M. 

281, end . — , (G., S. 

282, before affure — C., M., & G. insert /. 

284 s. d. placed by G. & S. before instead of after line. 
285, after fee —: (M.. f. 

285 her education, — her education, Beaumelle (C.; & for education 
Beaumelle (M., these editors taking Beau, in Q. s. d. to be in text! 

286 First / in Followes almost invisible in Q. 
289 take her — take her, take (G. 

296 participate — precipitate (C., f. 

301 / — me (C, f. 

303 know — its )i is broken in the Q. 



86 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Beau. Yes, my Lord. Enter Noiiall, Ponta. 305 

Char. You need not queftion me, if I can you. Malotine, 
You are the fayreft virgin in Digum, Lilad. Aymer. All 

And Rochfort is your father. falute. 

Noil. What's this change? 

Roch. You met my wifhes. Gentlemen. 

Rom. What make 

Thefe dogs in doublets heere ? 

Beau. A Vifitation, Sir. 310 

Char. Then thus, Faire Beaumelle, I write my faith 
Thus feale it in the fight of Heauen and men. 
Your fingers tye my heart-ftrings with this touch 
In true-loue knots, which nought but death fhall loofe. 
And yet thefe eares (an Embleme of our loues) 315 

Like Criftall riuers indiuidually 
Flow into one another, make one fource, 
W^hich neuer man diftinguifh, leffe deuide : 
Breath, marry, breath, and kiffes, mingle foules 

Two hearts, and bodies, heere incorporate : 320 

And though with little wooing I haue wonne 
My future life fhall be a wooing tyme. 
And euery day, new as the bridall one. 
Oh Sir I groane vnder your courtefies. 

More then my fathers bones vnder his wrongs, 325 

You C;^r///^.y-like, haue throwne into the gulfe, 
Of this his Countries foule ingratitude, 
Your life and fortunes, to redeeme their fhames. 

Roch. No more, my glory, come, let's in and haften 
This celebration. 

Rom. Mai. Pont. Ban. 

All faire bliffe vpon it. 330 

Exeunt Roch. Char. Rom. Bati. Mai. 

308, end — G. & S. s. d. : Aside. 

309 met — meet (G., S. 

310. Beau. This might be either Beaumelle or Beaumont. The Q. 
generally spells the latter Baumont, but the present speech, none the less, 
probably belongs to him, and is so assigned by C.. f. 

315 yet thefe eares — yet these tears (C. — let these tears (M., f. The 
latter emendation is correct. 

319 — Al., f. punctuate : Breath marry breath, and kisses mingle souls. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 87 

Nou. Miftreffe. 

Beau. Oh feruant, vertue ftrengthen me. 

Thy prefence blowes round my affections vane : 
You will vndoe me, if you fpeake againe. Exit Beaum. 

Lilad. Aym. Heere will be fport for you. This workes. 

Exeunt Lilad. Aym. 

Noil. Peace, peace, 

Pont. One word, my Lord Nouall. 

Nou. What, thou wouldft mony ; there. 335 

Pont. No, lie none. He not be bought a flaue, 
A Pander, or a Parafite, for all 
Your fathers worth, though you haue fau'd my life, 
Refcued me often from my wants, I muft not 

Winke at your f ollyes : that will ruine you. 340 

You know my blunt way, and my loue to truth : 
Forfake the purfuit of this Ladies honour, 
Now you doe fee her made another mans. 
And fuch a mans, fo good, fo popular, 

Or you will plucke a thoufand mifchiefes on you. 345 

The benefits you haue done me, are not loft, 
Nor caft away, they are purs'd heere in my heart, 
But let me pay you, fir, a fayrer way 
Then to defend your vices, or to footh 'em. 

Nou. Ha, ha, ha, what are my courfes vnto thee? 350 

Good Coufin Pontalier, meddle with that 
That fhall concerne thyfelfe. Exit Nouall. 

Pont. No more but fcorne ? 

Moue on then, ftarres, worke your pernicious will. 
Onely the -wife rule, and preuent your ill. Exit. 

Hobo yes. 
Here a paffage ouer the Stage, zvhile the Act is playing 
for the Marriage of Charalois ivith 
Beaumelle, & c. 

330 Miftreffe — G. & S. insert s. d. : As Beaumelle is going out. 
336 1st. He — / will (G., S. 
346 you haue — you've (C., M. 

349 'em — them (G., S. 

350 G. & S. omit the third ha. 
After 354 G. omits s. d., Hoboycs. 



Actus tertius, Scaena prima, 

[A Room in Charalois' House] 
Enter Nouall lunior, Bellapert. 



r Fa 



Non. lu. 

Falfe in thy promife, and when I haue faid 
Vngratefull, all is fpoke. 

Bell. Good my Lord, 

But heare me onely. 

Nou. To what purpofe, trifler? 

Can anything that thou canft fay, make voyd 5 

The marriage ? or thofe pleafures but a dreame, 
Which Charaloyes (oh Venus) hath enioyd? 

Bell. I yet could fay that you receiue aduantage, 
In what you thinke a loffe, would you vouchfafe me 
That you were neuer in the way till now 10 

With fafety to arriue at your defires, 
That pleafure makes loue to you vnattended 
By danger or repentance? 

Nou. That I could. 

But apprehend one reafon how this might be, 
Hope would not then forfake me. 

Bell. The enioying 15 

Of what you moft defire, I fay th' enioying 
Shall, in the full poffeffion of your wifhes, 
Confirme that I am faithfull. 

Nou. Giue fome rellifh 

How this may appeare poffible. 

Bell. I will 



3 


fpokc- 


— spoken (G. 


, s. 
















3 ■' 


and 4 


Good . 


, . . onely.— 


■printed 


as one 


line 


in Q. 






9, 


end - 


-; (C, 


f. 


















13 


, end 


. — omitted 


by M 


., f. 














19 


, end 


-. (C. 


, M.- 


-, (G., 


S. 


Th^ 


e latter 


emendation 


seems 


preferable. 
















88 











THE FATAL DOWRY 89 

RelHfh, and tafte, and make the banquet eafie : 20 

You fay my Ladie's married. I confeffe it, 

That Charalois hath inioyed her, 'tis moft true 

That with her, hee's already Mafter of 

The beft part of my old Lords ftate. Still better, 

But that the firft, or laft, fhould be your hindrance, 25 

I vtterly deny : for but obferue me : 

While fhe went for, and was, I fweare, a Virgin, 

What courtefie could fhe with her honour giue 

Or you receiue with fafety — take me with you, 

When I fay courtefie, doe not think I meane 30 

A kiffe, the tying of her fhoo or garter. 

An houre of priuate conference: thofe are trifles. 

In this word courtefy, we that are gamefters point at 

The fport direct, where not alone the louer 

Brings his Artillery, but vfes it. 35 

Which word expounded to you, fuch a courtefie 

Doe you expect, and fudden. 

Nou. But he tafted 

The firft fweetes, Bellapert. 

Bell. He wrong'd you fhrewdly, 

He toyl'd to climbe vp to the Phoenix neft, 

And in his prints leaues your afcent more eafie. 40 

I doe not know, you that are perfect Crittiques 
In womens bookes, may talke of maydenheads. 

Nou. But for her marriage. 

Bell. 'Tis a faire protection 

'Gainft all arrefts of feare, or fhame for euer. 

Such as are faire, and yet not foolifh, ftudy 45 

To haue one at thirteene ; but they are mad 
That ftay till twenty. Then fir, for the pleafure, 
To fay Adulterie's fweeter, that is ftale. 
This onely is not the contentment more. 

To fay, This is my Cuckold, then my Riuall. 5^ 

More I could fay — but briefly, fhe doates on you, 

22, end — .■ (C, f. 

24 old — M. omits. 

Z7 and 38 But . . . Bellapert. — printed as one line in Q. 

49. after onely (C, f. 



90 



THE FATAL DOWRY 



If it proue otherwife, (pare not, poyfon me 

With the next gold you giue me. Enter Beaumely 

Beau. Hows this feruant, 

Courting my woman ? 

Bell. As an entrance to 

The fauour of the miftris : you are together 55 

And I am perfect in my qu. 

Beau. Stay Bellapert. 

Bell. In this I muft not with your leaue obey you. 
Your Taylor and your Tire-woman waite without 
And ftay my counfayle, and direction for 

Your next dayes dreffing. I haue much to doe, 60 

Nor will your Ladifhip know, time is precious. 
Continue idle : this choife LcJrd will finde 
So fit imployment for you. Exit Bel'lap. 

Beau. I fhall grow angry. 

Nou. Not fo, you haue a iewell in her, Madam. 

Bell. I had forgot to tell your Ladifhip Enter 65 

The clofet is priuate and your couch ready : againe. 

And if you pleafe that I fhall loofe the key, 
But fay fo, and tis done. Exit Bellap. 

Baum. You come to chide me, feruant, and bring with you 
Sufficient warrant, you will fay and truely, 70 

My father found too much obedience in me. 
By being won too foone: yet if you pleafe 
But to remember, all my hopes and fortunes 
Had reuerence to this likening : you will grant 

That though I did not well towards you, I yet 75 

Did wifely for my felfe. 

Nou. With too much feruor 

I haue fo long lou'd and ftill loue you, Miftreffe, 
To efteeme that an iniury to me 
Which was to you conuenient : that is paft 

S3 and 54 Hows . . . woman? — printed as one line in Q. 
56, after qu — C, f . insert s. d. : Going. 
61 know — now (C, f. A correct emendation. 

66, after couch — G. suggests to insert there in brackets, — accepted by S. 
74 reuerence to this likening — reference to his liking (M., f. The 
emendation appears necessary. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 91 

My helpe, is paft my cure. You yet may, Lady, 80 

In recompence of all my dutious feruice, 
(Prouided that your will anfwere your power) 
Become my Creditreffe. 

Beau. I vnderftand you, 

And for affurance, the requeft you make 

Shall not be long vnanfwered. Pray you fit, 85 

And by what you fhall heare, you'l eafily finde. 
My paffions are much fitter to defire. 
Then to be fued to. Enter Romont and Florimell. 

Flor. Sir, tis not enuy 

At the ftart my fellow has got of me in 

My Ladies good opinion, thats the motiue 90 

Of this difcouery ; but due payment 
Of what I owe her Honour. 

Rom. So I conceiue it. 

Flo. I haue obferued too much, nor fhall my filence 
Preuent the remedy — yonder they are, 

I dare not bee feene with you. You may doe 95 

What you thinke fit, which wil be, I prefume, 
The office of a faithfull and tryed friend 
To my young Lord. Exit Flori. 

Rom. This is no vifion : ha ! 

Nou. With the next opportunity. 

Bean. By this kiffe. 

And this, and this. 

Nou. That you would euer fweare thus. 100 

Rom. If I feeme rude, your pardon. Lady; yours 
I do not afke : come, do not dare to fhew mee 
A face of anger, or the leaft diflike. 
Put on, and suddaily a milder looke, 
I fhall grow rough elfe. 

88, after to — G. inserts s. d. : They court. 

88 Enter Romont and Florimell — Enter Romont and Florimell behind 
(G., S 

88 tis — it is (G., S. 

91 hut due — hut the due (G., S. 

99, after opportunity . — ? (G., S. 

99 and 100 The three speeches composing these two lines are printed 
in Q. severally in three lines. 

loi, after Rom. — G. & S. insert s. d. : Comes forward. 



92 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Nou. What haue I done, Sir, 105 

To draw this harfh vnfauory language from you ? 

Rom. Done, Popinjay? why, doft thou thinke that if 
I ere had dreamt that thou hadft done me wrong, 
Thou fhouldeft outhue it? 

Beau. This is fomething more 

Then my Lords friendfhip giues commiffion for. no 

Nou. Your prefence and the place, makes him prefume 
Vpon my patience. 

Rom. As if thou ere wer't angry 

But with thy Taylor, and yet that poore fhred 
Can bring more to the making vp of a man. 

Then can be hop'd from thee: thou art his creature, 115 

And did hee not each morning new create [thee] 
Thou wouldft ftinke and be forgotten. He not change 
On fyllable more with thee, vntill thou bring 
Some teftimony vnder good mens hands. 

Thou art a Chriftian. I fuspect thee ftrongly, 120 

And wilbe fatisfied : till which time, keepe from me. 
The entertaiment of your vifitation 
Has made what I intended on a bufineffe. 

Nou. So wee fhall meete — Madam. 

Rom. Vfe that legge again, 

And He cut off the other. 

Nou. Very good. Exit Nouall. 12^ 

Rom. What a perfume the Mufke-cat leaues behind him ! 
Do you admit him for a property, 
To faue you charges, Lady. 

Beau. Tis not vfeleffe. 

Now you are to fucceed him. 

Rom. So I refpect you, 

III makes — make (G., S. 

116 [thee] — so all later editors. The word in the Q. is illegible, — pos- 
sibly yce. 

117 Thou wouldft — Thou'dst (C, f. 

123 on — i. e., one; c. f. line 118. But C. keeps on. 

124 and 125 Vfe . . . other. — printed as one line in Q. 

127 for — as (M. in Corrigenda, vol. 4, p. 379, where are supplied 11. 
126-130, which are omitted in his text. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 93 

Not for your felfe, but in remembrance of, 130 

Who is your father, and whofe wife you now are, 
That I choofe rather not to vnderftand 
Your nafty fcoffe then, — 

Beau. What, yOu will not beate mee, 

If I expound it to you. Heer's a Tyrant 
Spares neyther man nor woman. 

Rom. My intents 135 

Madam, deferue not this ; nor do I ftay 
To be the whetftone of your wit : preferue it 
To fpend on fuch, as know how to admire 
Such coloured ftuffe. In me there is now fpeaks to you 
As true a friend and feruant to your Honour, 140 

And one that will with as much hazzard guard it. 
As euer man did goodneffe. — But then Lady, 
You muft endeauour not alone to bee. 
But to appeare worthy fuch loue and feruice. 

Beau. To what tends this ? 

Rom. Why, to this purpofe, Lady, 145 

I do defire you fhould proue fuch a wife 
To Charaloys (and fuch a one hee merits) 
As Caefar, did hee Hue, could not except at, 
Not onely innocent from crime, but free 
From all taynt and fufpition. 

Beau. They are bafe I50' 

That iudge me otherwife. 

Rom. But yet bee carefull. 

Detraction's a bold monfter, and feares not 
To wound the fame of Princes, if it find 
But any blemifh in their Hues to worke on. 

But He bee plainer with you: had the people 155 

Bin learnd to fpeake, but what euen now I saw, 
Their malice out of that would raife an engine 
To ouerthrow your honor. In my fight 
(With yonder pointed foole I frighted from you) 

139 is — G. & S. omit. See Notes. 

150 and 151 They . . . otherwife. — printed as one line in Q. 

159 pointed — painted (C, f. See Notes. 



94 THE FATAL DOWRY 

You vs'd familiarity beyond i6o 

A modeft entertaynment : you embrac'd him 

With too much ardor for a ftranger, and 

Met him with kiffes neyther chafte nor comely : 

But learne you to forget him, as I will 

Your bounties to him, you will find it fafer 165 

Rather to be vncourtly, then immodeft. 

Beau. This prety rag about your necke fhews well, 
And being coorfe and little worth, it fpeakes you, 
As terrible as thrifty. 

Rom. Madam. 

Bean. Yes. 

And this ftrong belt in which you hang your honor 170 

Will out-laft twenty fcarfs. 

Rom. What meane you, Lady? 

Beau. And all elfe about you Cap a pe 
So vniforme in fpite of handfomneffe, 
Shews fuch a bold contempt of comelineffe, 

That tis not ftrange your Laundreffe in the League, 175 

Grew mad with loue of you. 

Rom.. Is my free counfayle 

Anfwerd with this ridiculous fcorne ? 

Beau. Thefe obiects 

Stole very much of my attention from me, 
Yet fomething I remember, to fpeake truth, 

Deceyued grauely, but to little purpofe, 180 

That almoft would haue made me fweare, fome Curate 
Had ftolne into the perfon of Romont, 
And in the praife of goodwife honefty, 
Had read an homely. 

Rom. By thy hand. 

Beau. And (word, 

I will make vp your oath, twill want weight elfe. 185 

You are angry with me, and poore I laugh at it. 

172, after And — G. suggests to insert then in brackets ; accepted by S. 
175 League — Leaguer (M., f. 
180 Deceyued — Delivered (C, f. 

184 thy — this (C, f. See Notes. 

185 twill — it will (G., S. 

186 You are — You're (C, M. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 95 

Do you come from the Campe, which affords onely 

The conuerfation of caft fuburbe whores, 

To fet downe to a Lady of my ranke, , 

Lymits of entertainment? 190 

Rom. Sure a Legion has poffeft this woman. 

Beau. One ftampe more would do well: yet I defire not 
You fhould grow horne-mad, till you haue a wife. 
You are come to warme meate, and perhaps cleane linnen : 
Feed, weare it, and bee thankefull. For me, know, 195 

That though a thoufand watches were fet on mee. 
And you the Mafter-fpy, I yet would vfe, 
The liberty that beft likes mee. I will reuell, 
Feaft, kiffe, imbreace, perhaps grant larger fauours : 
Yet fuch as Hue vpon my meanes, fhall know 200 

They muft not murmur at it. If my Lord 
Bee now growne yellow, and has chofe out you 
To ferue his lealouzy that way, tell him this. 
You haue fomething to in forme him : Exit Beau. 

Rom. And I will. 

Beleeue it wicked one I will. Heare, Heauen, 205 

But hearing pardon mee : if thefe fruts grow 
Vpon the tree of marriage, let me fhun it. 
As a forbidden fweete. An heyre and rich. 
Young, beautifull, yet adde to this a wife. 

And I will rather choofe a Spittle finner 210 

Carted an age before, though three parts rotten, 
And take it for a bleffing, rather then 
Be fettered to the hellifh flauery 
Of fuch an impudence. 

Enter Baumont with writings. 

Bau. Collonell, good fortune 

To meet you thus : you looke fad, but He tell you 215 

Something that fhall remoue it. Oh how happy 
Is my Lord Charaloys in his faire bride ! 

Rom. A happy man indeede ! — pray you in what ? 

Bau. I dare fweare, you would thinke fo good a Lady, 
A dower fufficient. 

203 that — this (G., S. 

204 You haue — You've (C, M. 



96 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Rom. No doubt. But on. 220 

Bail. So faire, fo chafte, fo vertuous : fo indeed 
All that is excellent. 

Rom. Women haue no cunning 

To gull the world. 

Bau. Yet to all thefe, my Lord 

Her father giues the full addition of 

All he does now poffeffe in Burgundy: 225 

Thefe writings to confirme it, are new feal'd 
And I moft fortunate to prefent him with them, 
I muft goe feeke him out, can you direct mee ? 

Rom. You'l finde him breaking a young horfe. 

Bau. I thanke you. E.vit Baumont. 

Rom. I muft do fomething worthy Charaloys friendfhip. 230 

If fhe were well inclin'd to keepe her fo, 
Deferu'd not thankes : and yet to ftay a woman 
Spur'd headlong by hot luft, to her owne ruine, 
Is harder then to prop a falling towre 
With a deceiuing reed. Enter Rochfort. 

Roch. Some one feeke for me, 235 

As foone as he returnes. 

Rom. Her father/ ha? 

How if I breake this to him? fure it cannot 
Meete with an ill conftruction. His wifedome 
Made powerfull by the authority of a father. 

Will warrant and giue priuiledge to his counfailes. 240 

It fhall be fo — my Lord. 

Roch. Your friend Romont: 

Would you ought with me ? 

Rom. I ftand fo engag'd 

To your fo many fauours, that I hold it 
A breach in thank fulneffe, fhould I not difcouer, 

221 fo indeed — C. & M. omit so; so — indeed, (G., S. — The Q. reading 
is preferable. 

222 and 223 Women . . . zvorld. — printed as one line in Q. 
223, after world. — G. & S. s. d. : Aside. 

231, after inclin'd — , (C, f. 

235 s. d. — in G. & S. : Enter Rochfort, speaking to a servant within. 

241 and 242 Your . . . me? — printed as one line in Q. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 97 

Though with fome imputation to my felfe, 245. 

All doubts that may concerne you. 

Roch. The performance 

Will make this proteftation worth my thanks. 

Rom. Then with your patience lend me your attention 
For what I muft deliuer, whifpered onely 
You will with too much griefe receiue. 
Enter Beaumelle, Bellapert. 

Beau. See wench ! 250 

Vpon my life as I forefpake, hee's now 
Preferring his complaint : but be thou perfect, 
And we will fit him. 

Bell. Feare not mee, pox on him : 

A Captaine turne Informer against kiffing? 

Would he were hang'd vp in his rufty Armour : 255 

But if our frefh wits cannot turne the plots 
Of fuch a mouldy murrion on it felfe ; 
Rich cloathes, choyfe faire, and a true friend at a call, 
With all the pleafures the night yeelds, forfake vs. 

Roch. This in my daughter? doe not wrong her. 

Bell. Now. 260 

Begin. The games afoot, and wee in diftance. 

Beau. Tis thy fault, foolifh girle, pinne on my vaile, 
I will not weare thofe iewels. Am I not 
Already matcht beyond my hopes? yet ftill 

You prune and fet me forth, as if I were 265 

Againe to pleafe a fuyter. 

Bell. Tis the courfe 

That our great Ladies take. 

Rom. A weake excufe. 

Beau. Thofe that are better feene, in what concernes 
A Ladies honour and faire fame, condemne it. 

250 s. d. — in G. & S. : Enter Beaumelle a)id Bellapert, behind. 

254 turne — turn'd (M. 

259, end . — ? (S., probably misprint for / 

260 This in my daughter f — S. reads : This is my daughter! 

260 and 261. Lines in Q. : This . . . her. \ Now begin. \ The . . . diftance. 

262 Before. Beaumelle's speech G. & S. insert s. d. : Comes forzvard. 

267 Rom. A weak exeufe. — G. & S. assign to Beau, with the lines 
which follow. The change is without warrant and makes no improvement 
on Q reading. 



98 THE FATAL DOWRY 

You waite well, in your abfence, my Lords friend 270 

The vnderftanding, graue and wife Romont. 

Rom. Muft I be ftill her fport ? 

Beau. Reproue me for it. 

And he has traueld to bring home a iudgement 
Not to be contradicted. You will fay 

My father, that owes more to yeeres then he, 275 

Has brought me vp to mufique, language, Courtfhip, 
And I muft vfe them. True, but not t'ofifend. 
Or render me fufpected. 

Roch. Does your fine ftory 

Begin from this? 

Beau. I thought a parting kiffe 

From young Nouall, would haue difpleafd no more 280 

Then heretofore it hath done ; but I finde 
I muft reftrayne fuch fauours now; looke therefore 
As you are carefull to continue mine, 
That I no more be vifited. lie endure 

The ftricteft courfe of life that iealoufie 285 

Can thinke fecure enough, ere my behauiour 
Shall call my fame in queftion. 

Rom. Ten diffemblers 

Are in this fubtile deuill. You beleeue this ? 

Roch. So farre that if you trouble me againe 
With a report like this, I fhall not onely 290 

ludge you malicious in your difpofition. 
But ftudy to repent what I haue done 
To fuch a nature. 

Rom. Why, 'tis exceeding well. 

Roch. And for you, daughter, off with this, ofif with it : 
I haue that confidence in your goodneffe, I, 295 

That I will not confent to haue you Hue 
Like to a Reclufe in a cloyfter : goe • 
Call in the gallants, let them make you merry, 
Vfe all fit liberty. 

Bell. Bleffing on you. 

272, after fport — C. & M. insert s. d. : Aside. 

272 Reproue — Reproved (M., f. 

278 and 279 Does . . . this? — printed as one line in Q. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 99 

If this new preacher with the fword and feather 300 

Could proue his doctrine for Canonical!, 

We fhould haue a fine world. Exit Bellapert. 

Roch. Sir, if you pleafe 

To beare your felfe as fits a Gentleman, 
The houfe is at your feruice : but if not. 

Though you feeke company elfe where, your abfence 305 

Will not be much lamented — Exit Rochfort. 

Rom. If this be 

The recompence of ftriuing to preferue 
A wanton gigglet honeft, very fhortly 
'Twill make all mankinde Panders — Do you fmile, 
Good Lady Loofenes? your whole fex is like you, 310 

And that man's mad that feekes to better any : 
What new change haue you next? 

Beau. Oh, feare not you, fir. 

He fhift into a thoufand, but I will 
Conuert your herefie. 

Rom. What herefie? Speake. 

Beau. Of keeping a Lady that is married, 315 

From entertayning feruants. — Enter Nouall lu. Mala- 

O, you are welcome, tine, Liladam, Aymer, 
Vfe any meanes to vexe him, Pontalier. 

And then with welcome follow me. Exit Beau 

Nou. You are tyr'd 

With your graue exhortations, Collonell. 

Lilad. How is it? Fayth, your Lordfhip may doe well, 320 

To helpe him to fome Church-preferment : 'tis 
Now the fafhion, for men of all conditions. 
How euer they haue liu'd ; to end that way. 

Aym. That face would doe well in a furpleffe. 

Rom. Rogues, 

Be filent — or — 

300 the — his (S. 

316 you are — you're (C, M. 

318 s. d. — G. & S. read : Aside to them, and exit. 

322 Now the fafhion — The fashion now (G., S. 

324 Rogues in Q. begins the succeeding line. 

328 fhall — should (G., S. 



100 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Pont. S'death will you fuffer this? 325 

Rom. And you, the mafter Rogue, the coward rafcall, 
I fhall be with you fuddenly. 

Nou. Pontallier, 

If I fhould ftrike him, I know I fhall kill him: 
And therefore I would haue thee beate him, for 
Hee's good for nothing elfe. 

Lilad. His backe 330 

Appeares to me, as it would tire a Beadle, 
And then he has a knotted brow, would bruife 
A courtlike hand to touch it. 

Aym. Hee lookes like 

A Curryer when his hides grown deare. 

Pont. Take heede 

He curry not fome of you. 

Nou. Gods me, hee's angry. 335 

Rom. I breake no lefts, but I can breake my fword 
About your pates. Enter Charaloyes and 

Lilad. Heeres more. Baumont. 

Aym,. Come let's bee gone, 

Wee are beleaguerd. 

Nou. Looke they bring vp their troups. 

Pont. Will you fit downe 

With this difgrace ? You are abus'd moft grofely. 340 

Lilad. I grant you. Sir, we are, and you would haue vs 
Stay and be more abus'd. 

Nou. My Lord, I am forry, 

Your houfe is fo inhofpitable, we muft quit it. Exeunt. 

Clia. Prethee Romont, what caus'd this vprore? Manent 

Rom. Nothing. Char. Rom. 

They laugh'd and vf'd their fcuruy wits vpon mee. 345 

Char. Come, tis thy lealous nature : but I wonder 
That you which are an honeft man and worthy. 
Should f ofter this fufpition : no man laughes ; 
No one can whifper, but thou apprehend'ft 

334 grozvn — grow (G., S. 

334 and 335 Take . . . you. — printed as one line in Q. 

335 Gods— Gads (C. M., G. 

339 and 340 Will . . . difgrace? — printed as one line in Q. 
342 / am — I'm (C, f. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 101 

His conference and his fcorne reflects on thee : 350 

For my part they fhould fcoffe their thin wits out, 

So I not heard 'em, beate me, not being there. 

Leaue, leaue thefe fits, to confcious men, to fuch 

As are obnoxious, to thofe fooHfh things 

As they can gibe at. 

Rom. Well, Sir. 

Char. Thou art know'n 355 

Valiant without detect, right defin'd 
Which is (as fearing to doe iniury, 
As tender to endure it) not a brabbler, 
A fwearer. 

Rom. Pifh, pifh, what needs this my Lord? 
If I be knowne none fuch, how vainly, you 360 

Do caft away good counfaile ? I haue lou'd you, 
And yet muft freely fpeake ; fo young a tutor, 
Fits not fo old a Souldier as I am. 
And I muft tell you, t'was in your behalfe 

I grew inraged thus, yet had rather dye, 365 

Then open the great caufe a fyllable further. 

Cha. In my behalfe? wherein hath Charalois 
Vnfitly fo demean'd himfelfe, to giue 
The leaft occafion to the loofeft tongue. 

To throw afperfions on him, or fo weakely Z?^ 

Protected his owne honor, as it fhould 
Need a defence from any but himfelfe? 
They are fools that iudge me by my outward feeming, 
Why fhould my gentleneffe beget abufe? 

The Lion is not angry that does fleepe 375 

Nor euery man a Coward that can weepe. 

350 reflects — reflect (G., S. 

352 'em — them (C, f. 

352 beate — bait (M. 

354 , — omitted by C, f., — a probably correct emendation. 

356 detect — defect (C, f., — a correct emendation. 

356 right — rightly (M., f., — an unnecessary emendation for the sense, but 
probably correct, as it improves the metre. 

357 and 358 — the ( )'s are omitted by M., f. 
272 a — C. & M. omit. 

Z7Z They arc — They're (C, M. 



102 THE FATAL DOWRY 

For Gods fake fpeake the caufe. 

Rom. Not for the world. 

Oh it will ftrike difeafe into your bones 
Beyond the cure of phyficke, drinke your blood, 

Rob you of all your reft, contract your fight, 380 

Leaue you no eyes but to^ fee mifery. 
And of your owne, nor fpeach but to wifh thus 
Would I had perifh'd in the prifons iawes : 
From whence I was redeem'd ! twill weare you old, 
Before you haue experience in that Art, 385 

That caufes your affliction. 

Cha. Thou doft ftrike 

A deathfull coldneffe to my hearts high heate. 
And fhrinkft my liuer like the Calenture. 
Declare this foe of mine, and lifes, that like 

A man I may encounter and fubdue it 390 

It fhall not haue one fuch effect in mee, 
As thou denounceft : with a Souldiers arme. 
If it be ftrength. He meet it: if a fault 
Belonging to my mind, He cut it ofif 

With mine owne reafon, as a Scholler fhould 395 

Speake, though it make mee monftrous. 

Rom. He dye firft. 

Farewell, continue merry, and high Heauen 
Keepe your wife chafte. 

Char. Hump, ftay and take this wolfe 

Out of my breft, that thou haft lodg'd there, or 
For euer lofe mee. 

Rom. Lofe not. Sir, your felfe. 400 

And I will venture — So the dore is faft. Locke 

Now noble Charaloys, collect your felfe, the dore. 

Summon your fpirits, mufter all your ftrength 
That can belong to man, fift paffion, 

From euery veine, and whatfoeuer enfues, 405 

Vpbraid not me heereafter, as the caufe of 

395, end — . (C, f. 

396 He — / will (G. 

398 Hump — Hum (C, f. 

403 you — C, f. make obvious correction to your. 

405 whatfoeuer — whatfoe'er (M., f. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 103 

lealoufy, difcontent, flaughter and ruine : 
Make me not parent to finne : you will know 
This fecret that I burne with. 

Char. Diuell on't, 

What fhould it be? Romont, I heare you wifh 410 

My wifes continuance of Chaftity. 

Rom. There was no hurt in that. 

Char. Why? do you know 

A likelyhood or poffibility vnto the contrarie? 

Rom. I know it not, but doubt it, thefe the grounds 
The feruant of your wife now young Nouall, 415 

The fonne vnto your fathers Enemy 
(Which aggrauates my prefumption the more) 
I haue been warnd of, touching her, nay, feene them 
Tye heart to heart, one in anothers armes, 

Multiplying kiffes, as if they meant 420 

To pofe Arithmeticke, or whofe eyes would 
Bee firft burnt out, with gazing on the others. 
I faw their mouthes engender, and their palmes 
Glew'd, as if Loue had lockt them, their words flow 
And melt each others, like two circling flames, 425 

Where chaftity, like a Phoenix (me thought) burn'd, 
But left the world nor afhes, nor an heir€. 
Why ftand you filent thus ? what cold dull flegme, 
As if you had no drop of choller mixt 

In your whole conftitution, thus preuailes, 430 

To fix you now, thus ftupid hearing this ? 

Cha. You did not fee 'em on my Couch within, 
Like George a horfe-backe on her, nor a bed? 

Rom. Noe. 

Cha. Ha, ha. 

•409, after with . — ? (G., S. 

410 heare — G. & S. read heard. The final c is blurred in Q., but cer- 
tainly e, not d. 
412 and 413 Why . . . poffibility— printed as one line in Q. 

416 u in your inverted in Q. 

417 my — G. & S. omit. 
419 Tye — tied (G. 

432 'em — him (M., f. See Notes. 



104 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Rom. Laugh yee? eene fo did your wife, 

And her indulgent father. 

Cha. They were wife. 435 

Wouldft ha me be a f oole ? 

Rom. No, but a man. 

Cha. There is no dramme of manhood to fufpect, 
On fuch thin ayrie circumftance as this 
Meere complement and courtfhip. Was this tale 

The hydeous monfter which you fo conceal'd? 440 

Away, thou curious impertinent 
And idle fearcher of fuch leane nice toyes. 
Goe, thou fedicious fower of debate : 
Fly to fuch matches, where the bridegroome doubts : 
He holds not worth enough to counteruaile 445 

The vertue and the beauty of his wife. 
Thou buzzing drone that 'bout my eares doft hum. 
To ftrike thy rankling fting into my heart, 
Whofe vemon, time, nor medicine could affwage. 

Thus doe I put thee off, and confident 450 

In mine owne innocency, and defert. 
Dare not conceiue her fo vnreafonable, 
To put Notiall in ballance againft me. 
An vpftart cran'd vp to the height he has. 

Hence bufiebody, thou'rt no friend to me, 455 

That muft be kept to a wiues iniury, 

Rom. Ift poffible? farewell, fine, honeft man, 
Sweet temper'd Lord adieu : what Apoplexy 
Hath knit fence vp ? Is this Romonts reward ? 

Beare witnes the great fpirit of my father, 460 

With what a healthfull hope I adminifter 
This potion that hath wrought fo virulently, 
I not accufe thy wife of act, but would 
Preuent her Praecipuce, to thy difhonour, 

434 yee — you (C, f. 

434 eene — even (G., S. 

436 ha — have (M., f. 

460 tny — thy (C, f. — The emendation is probably correct. 

461 / adminifter — / did administer (M., f. The Ms. reading may have 
been: adminifter'd. 

464 Praecipuce — precipice (C, f. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 105 

Which now thy tardy fluggifhneffe will admit. 465 

Would I had feene thee grau'd with thy great Sire, 

Ere Hue to haue mens marginall fingers point 

At Charaloys, as a lamented ftory. 

An Emperour put away his wife for touching 

Another man, but thou wouldft haue thine tafted 470 

And keepe her (I thinke.) Pufife. I am a fire 

To warme a dead man, that wafte out myfelfe. 

Bleed — what a plague, a vengeance i'ft to mee, 

If you will be a Cuckold? Heere I fhew 

A fwords point to thee, this fide you may fhun, 475 

Or that : the perrill, if you will runne on, 

I cannot helpe it. 

Cha. Didft thou neuer fee me 

Angry, Romont? 

Rom. Yes, and purfue a foe 

Like lightening 

Char. Prethee fee me fo no more. 

I can be fo againe. Put vp thy fword, 480 

And take thy felfe away, left I draw mine. 

Rotn. Come fright your foes with this : fir, I am your friend, 
And dare ftand by you thus. 

Char. Thou art not my friend, 

Or being fo, thou art mad, I muft not buy 

Thy f riendfhip at this rate ; had I iuft cause, 485 

Thou knowft I durft purfue fuch iniury 
Through fire, ayre, water, earth, nay, were they all 
Shuffled againe to Chaos, but ther's none. 
Thy fkill, Romont, confifts in camps, not courts. 

Farewell, vnciuill man, let's meet no more. 490 

Heere our long web of friendfhip I vntwift. 
Shall I goe whine, walke pale, and locke my wife 
For nothing, from her births free liberty. 
That open'd mine to me ? yes ; if I doe 

467 Hue — lived (G., S. See Notes. 

471 Puffe—Phoh (C, M.. G. 

473 Bleed— Blood (C., M. 

482 this: fir. — this, sir! (€., G., S. — this, sir? (M. 

483 Thou art — Thou'rt (C., M. 

484 thou art — thou'rt (C, M. 



106 THE FATAL DOWRY 

The name of cuckold then, dog me with fcorne. 495 

I am a Frenchman, no Italian borne. Exit. 

Rom. A dull Dutch rather: fall and coole (my blood) 
Boyle not in zeal of thy friends hurt, fo high, 
That is fo low, and cold himfelfe in't. Woman, 

How ftrong art thou, how eafily beguild ? 5°° 

How thou doft racke vs by the very homes ? 
Now wealth I fee change manners and the man : 
Something I muft doe mine owne wrath to affwage, 
And note my friendfhip to an after-age. Exit. 



Actus quartus, Scaena prima, 

[A Room in N avail's House] 

Enter Nouall lunior, as neivly drefjed, a Taylor, Barber, 
Perfumer, Liladam, Aymour, Page. 



Nou. I\ /I End this a little : pox ! thou haft burnt me. oh fie 

iVivpon't, O Lard, hee has made me fmell (for . 
all the world) like a flaxe, or a red headed womans chamber: 
powder, powder, powder. 

Perf. Oh fweet Lord ! Nouall fits in a chaire, 5 

Page. That's his Perfumer. Barber orders his haire, 
Tayl. Oh deare Lord, Perfumer giues pozvder, 

Page. That's his Taylor. Taylor fets his clotheje. 

Nou. Monfieur Liladam, Aymour, how allow you the 
modell of thefe clothes? . 10 

Aym. Admirably, admirably, oh fweet Lord ! affuredly 
it's pity the wormes fhould eate thee. 

Page. Here's a fine Cell ; a Lord, a Taylor, a Perfumer, a 
Barber, and a paire of Mounfieurs : 3 to 3, as little will in the 
one, as honefty in the other. S'foote ile into the country a- 15 

gaine, learne to fpeake truth, drinke Ale, and conuerfe with 
my fathers Tenants ; here I heare nothing all day, but 
vpon my foule as I am a Gentleman, and an honeft 
man. 

Aym. I vow and af^rme, your Taylor muft needs be an ex- 20 

pert Geometrician, he has the Longitude, Latitude, Alti- 
tude, Profundity, euery Demenfion of your body, fo ex- 

Enter Nouall, etc. — G. & S. introduce the scene with the following 
variant s. d., also omitting s. d. of lines 5-8 of Q. : Noval junior discovered 
seated before a looking-glass, with a Barber and Perfumer dressing his 
hair, while a Tailor adjusts a new suit which he zvears. Liladam, Aymer, 
and a Page attending. 

13 Cell — See Notes. 

14 will — wit (C, f. The emendation is probably correct. 

19, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : Aside, as also after the speeches of Page 
ending lines, 25, 36, 40, 62, 66, and 70. 

107 



108 THE FATAL DOWRY 

quifitely, here's a lace layd as directly, as if truth were a 
Taylor. 

Page. That were a miracle. 25 

Lila. With a haire breadth's errour, ther's a fhoulder 
piece cut, and the bafe of a pickadille in puncto. 

Aym. You are right, Mounfieur his veftaments fit: as if 
they grew vpon him, or art had wrought 'em on the fame 
loome, as nature fram'd his Lordfhip as if your Taylor were 30 

deepely read in Aftrology, and had taken meafure of your 
honourable body, with a Jacobs ftaflfe, an Ephimeri- 
des. , 

Tayl. I am bound t'ee Gentlemen. 

Page. You are deceiu'd, they'll be bound to you, you muft 35 

remember to truft 'em none. 

NoH. Nay, fayth, thou art a reafonable neat Artificer, giue 
the diuell his due. 

Page. I, if hee would but cut the coate according to the 
cloth ftill. 40 

Noil. I now want onely my mifters approbation, who is 
indeed, the moft polite punctuall Queene of dreffihg in all 
Burgundy. Pah, and makes all other young Ladies appeare, 
as if they came from boord laft weeke out of the country, 
Is't not true, Liladam ? 45 

Lila. True my Lord, as if any thing your Lordfhip could 
fay, could be othewrife then true. 

Nou. Nay, a my foule, 'tis fo, what fouler obiect in the 
world, then to fee a young faire, handfome beauty, vnhand- 
fomely dighted and incongruently accoutred ; or a hopefull 50 

Cheiialier, vnmethodically appointed, in the externall orna- 
ments of nature? For euen as the Index tels vs the contents 
of ftories, and directs to the particular Chapters, euen fo 
does the outward habit and fuperficiall order of garments 

26 haire breadth's — hair's breadth's (C, M., G. — hair's breadth (S. 

29 'em — them (G., S. 

30, after Lordfhip — ; (C, f. 

34 t'ee — t'ye (C, f. 

36 'em — them (G., S. 

39 I— Ay (G.. S. 

41 mifters — mistress's (C., M. — mistress' (G., S. 

48 a—0 (C, M.— 0' (G., S. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 109 

(in man or woman) giue vs a taft of the fpirit, and demon- 55 

ftratiuely poynt (as it were a manuall note from the margin) 

all the internall quality, and habiliment of the fotile, and 

there cannot be a more euident, palpable, groffe manifefta- 

tion of poore degenerate dunghilly blood, and breeding, then 

rude, vnpolifh'd, difordered and flouenly outfide. 60 

Page. An admirable ! lecture. Oh all you gallants, that hope 
to be faued by your cloathes, edify, edify. 

Aym. By the Lard, fweet Lard, thou deferu'ft a penfion 
o' the State. 

Page. O th' Taylors, two fuch Lords were able to fpread 65 

Taylors ore the face of a whole kingdome. 

Nou. Pox a this glaffe ! it flatters, I could find in my heart 
to breake it. 

Page. O faue the glaffe my Lord, and breake their heads, 
they are the greater flatterers I affure you. 70 

Aym. Flatters, detracts, impayres, yet put it by. 
Left thou deare Lord (Narciffus-Vike) fhould doate 
Vpon thyfelfe, and dye ; and rob the world 
Of natures copy, that fhe workes forme by. 

Lila. Oh that I were the Infanta Queene of Europe, 75 

Who (but thy felfe fweete Lord) fhouldft marry me. 

Nou. I marry? were there a Queene oth' world, not L 
Wedlocke? no padlocke, horfelocke, I weare fpurrs He 

To keepe it off my heeles ; yet my Aymour, capers. 

Like a free wanton iennet i'th meddows, 80 

I looke aboute, and neigh, take hedge and ditch, 
Feede in my neighbours paftures, picke my choyce 
Of all their faire-maind-mares : but married once, 
A man is ftak'd, or pown'd, and cannot graze 

59, after then — a inserted by C, f. 

66 a — the (G. 

67 a — (G., S. 

71, after Flatters , — / (G., S. 

72 fhould — shoiildst (G., S. 

74 forme — form (C., f. 

j6 fhouldft — should (C., f. See Note on 1. 72. 

yj oth' — 0' the (G., S. 

80 i'th — in the (G., S. 

84 pown'd — pounded (M. 



110 ■ THE FATAL DOWRY 

Beyond his owne hedge. 

Enter Pontalier, and Malotin. 

Pont. I haue waited, fir, 85 

Three hours to fpeake w'ee, and not take it well, 
Such magpies are admitted, whilft I daunce 
Attendance. 

Lila. Magpies? what d'ee take me for? 

Pont. A long thing with a moft vnpromifing face. 

Aym. I'll ne're afke him what he takes me for ? 

Mai. Doe not, fir, 90 

For hee'l goe neere to tell you. 

Pont. Art not thou 

A Barber Surgeon? 

Barb. Yes fira why. 

Pont. My Lord is forely troubled with two fcabs. 

Lila. Aym. Humph — 

Pont. I prethee cure him of 'em. 

Noil. Pifh : no more, 95 

Thy gall fure's ouer throwne ; thefe are my Councell, 
And we were now in ferious difcourfe. 

Pont. Of perfume and apparell, can you rife 
And fpend 5 houres in dreffing talke, with thefe? 

Nou. Thou 'idft haue me be a dog: vp, ftretch and fhake, 100 

And ready for all day. 

Pont. Sir, would you be 

More curious in preferuing of your honour. 
Trim, 'twere more manly. I am come to wake 
Your reputation, from this lethargy 
You let it fleep in, to perfwade, importune, 105 

86 w'ee — with you (C, M. — wi' ye (G., S. 

86 not take it well — take it not well (C, M. 

88 d'ee— d'ye (C, f. 

90 ne're — never (M., f. 

91 and 92 Art . . . Surgeon f — printed as one line in Q. 

94 Humph — Hti7n (G., S. 

95 'em — them (G., S. 

96 ouer throwne — overflown (M., f. See Notes. 
100 Thou' idft — Thou'ldst (C, f. 

102, end . — omitted by C, f. 

103 G. makes Trim last word of line 102, and lengthens 'twere to It 
were. 



THE FATAL DOWRY HI 

Nay, to prouoke you, fir, to call to account 

This Collonell Romont, for the foule wrong 

Which like a burthen, he hath layd on you. 

And like a drunken porter, you fleepe vnder. 

'Tis all the towne talkes, and beleeue, fir, no 

If your tough fenfe perfift thus, you are vndone, 

Vtterly loft, you will be fcornd and bafifled 

By euery Lacquay ; feafon now your youth. 

With one braue thing, and it fhall keep the odour 

Euen to your death, beyond, and on your Tombe, 115 

Sent like fweet oyles and Frankincenfe ; fir, this life 

Which once you fau'd, I ne're fince counted mine, 

I borrow'd it of you ; and now will pay it ; 

I tender you the feruice of my fword 

To beare your challenge, if you'll write, your fate : 120 

He make mine owne : what ere betide you, I 

That haue liu'd by you, by your fide will dye. 

NoH. Ha, ha, would'ft ha' me challenge poore Romont f 
Fight with clofe breeches, thou mayft think I dare not. 
Doe not miftake me (cooze) I am very valiant, 125 

But valour fhall not make me fuch an Affe. 
What vfe is there of valour (now a dayes?) 
'Tis fure, or to be kill'd, or to be hang'd. 
Fight thou as thy minde moues thee, 'tis thy trade. 
Thou haft nothing elfe to doe ; fight with Romont f 130 

No i'le not fight vnder a Lord. 

Pont. Farewell, fir, 

I pitty you. 

Such louing Lords walke their dead honours graues, 
For no companions fit, but fooles and knaues. 
Come Malotin. Exeunt Pont. Mai. 

Enter Romont. 

no tozvnc talkes — Town-Talk (C, M. 

no, after beleeue — G. & S. insert it. 

Ill you are — you're C, M. 

116 Sent — i. e. Scent; so all later editors. 

123 ha' — have (G., S. 

125 / am — I'm (C, M. 

131 and 132 Farewell . . . you. — printed as one line in Q. 

133 louing — living (G., S. 



112 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Lila. 'Sfoot, Colbran, the low gyant. 135 

Aym. He has brought a battaile in his face, let's goe. 

Page. Colbran d'ee call him? hee'l make fome of you fmoake, 
I beleeue. 

Rom. By your leaue, firs. 

Aym. Are you a Confort? 

Rom. D'ee take mee 

For a fidler? ya're deceiu'd : Looke. He pay you. Kickes 'em. 

Page. It feemes he knows you one, he bumfiddles you fo. 140 

Lila. Was there euer fo bafe a fellow? 

Aym. A rafcall? 

LUa. A moft vnciuill Groome? 

Aym. Offer to kicke a Gentleman, in a Noblemans cham- 
ber? A pox of your manners. 145 

Lila. Let him alone, let him alone, thou fhalt lofe thy 
arme, fellow: if we ftirre againft thee, hang vs. 

Page. S'foote, I thinke they haue the better on him, 
though they be kickd, they talke fo. 

Lila. Let's leaue the mad Ape. 150 

Nou. Gentlemen. 

Lilad. Nay, my Lord, we will not offer to difhonour you 
fo much as to ftay by you, fince hee's alone. 

Nou. Harke you. 

Aym. We doubt the caufe, and will not dif parage you, fo 155 

much as to take your Lordfhips quarrel in hand. Plagye on 
him, how he has crumpled our bands. 

Page. He eene away with 'em, for this fouldier beates 
man, woman, and child. Exeunt. Manent Nou. Rom. 

Nou. What meane you, fir? My people. 

Rom. Your boye's gone, Lockes the doore. 160 

And doore's lockt, yet for no hurt to you, 

137 d'ee — d'ye (C, f. 

138 D'ee— D'ye (C, U.—Do you (G.. S. 

139 In Q., For is last word of line 138. 
139 ya're — you're (G., S. 

145 of—o' (C., f. 

147 arme — aim (M., f. 

150, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : Going. 

158 'cm — them (G., S. 

161 And doore's — And your door's (G, S. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 113 

But priuacy : call vp your blood againe, fir, 

Be not affraid, I do befeach you, fir, 

(And therefore come) without, more circumftance 

Tell me how farre the paffages haue gone 165 

'Twixt you and your faire Miftreffe Beaumelle, 

Tell me the truth, and by my hope of Heauen 

It neuer fhall goe further. 

Nou. Tell you why fir? 

Are you my confeffor? 

Rom. I will be your confounder, if you doe not. Drazves a 170 
Stirre not, nor fpend your voyce. pocket dag. 

Nou. What will you doe? 

Rom. Nothing but lyne your brayne-pan, fir, with lead, 
If you not fatisfie me fuddenly, 
I am defperate of my life, and command yours. 

Nou. Hold, hold, ile fpeake. I vow to heauen and you, 175 

Shee's yet vntouch't, more then her face and hands : 
I cannot call her innocent ; for I yeeld 
On my follicitous wrongs fhe confented 
Where time and place met oportunity 
To grant me all requefts. 

Rom. But may I build 180 

On this affurance? 

Nou. As vpon your fayth. 

Rom. Write this, fir, nay you muft. Drazves Inkehorne 

Nou. Pox of this Gunne. and paper. 

Rom. Withall, fir, you muft fweare, and put your oath 
Vnder your hand, (fhake not) ne're to frequent 

This Ladies company, nor euer fend 185 

Token, or meffage, or letter, to incline 
This (too much prone already) yeelding Lady. 

Nou. 'Tis done, fir. 

162-164 ^printed as two lines in Q. : But . . . do \ Bcfcach . . . circum- 
ftance. 

163 — this line is omitted in M. 

168 Tell you why fir — Tell you? why sir? (C, M. — Tell you! why, 
sir, G., S. 

171, s. d. dag. — dagger (C, M. 

174 / am — I'm (C, M. 

178 wrongs — zvooing (M., f. Perhaps the Ms. reading was zvooings. 

180 and 181 But . . . affurance? — printed as one line in Q. 



114 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Rom. Let me fee, this firft is right, 

And heere you wifh a fudden death may Hght 

Vpon your body, and hell take your foule, 190 

If euer more you fee her, but by chance. 
Much leffe allure. Now, my Lord, your hand. 

Nou. My hand to this ? 

Rom. Your heart elfe I affure you. 

Nou. Nay, there 'tis. 

Rom. So keepe this laft article 

Of your fayth giuen, and ftead of threatnings, fir, 195 

The feruice of my fword and life is yours : 
But not a word of it, 'tis Fairies treafure ; 
Which but reueal'd, brings on the blabbers, ruine. 
Vfe your youth better, and this excellent forme 
Heauen hath beftowed vpon you. So good morrow to your Lordfhip. 200 

Nou. Good diuell to your roguefhip. No man's faf e : 
He haue a Cannon planted in my chamber. Exit. 

Againft fuch roaring roagues. 
Enter Bellapert. 

Bell. My Lord away 

The Coach ftayes : now haue your wifh, and iudge, 
If I haue been forgetfull. 

Nou. Ha ? 

Bell. D'ee ftand 205 

Humming and hawing now ? Exit. 

Nou. Sweet wench, I come. 

Hence feare, 

I fwore, that's all one, my next oath 'ile keepe 
That I did meane to breake, and then 'tis quit. 

188, after jee , —omitted by G. & S. 

189, end G. & S. insert s. d. : Reading. 
194, after So — (C, M.— / (G.. S. 

198 blabbers, ruine — blabber's ruin (AI., f. The emendation is plausible, 
but not absolutely required. 

202, s. d. E.vit — C., f. place at end of line 200, its obviously correct 
position, as would undoubtedly Q., but for insufficient margin in the page 
at this point. 

203 G. & S. give s. d. : Enter Bellapert, hastily. 

204 Coach — caroch (G., S. 

205 D'ee — D'ye (C, M. — Do you (G., S. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 115 

No paine is due to louers periury. 210 

If loue himfelfe laugh at it, fo will I. Exit Nouall. 



Scaena 2. Enter Charaloys, Baumont. 
[An outer Room in Aymer's House] 

Bail. I grieue for the diftafte, though I haue manners, 
Not to inquire the caufe, falne out betweene 
Your Lordfhip and Romont. 

Cha. I loue a friend, 

So long as he continues in the bounds 

Prefcrib'd by friendfhip, but when he vfurpes 5 

Too farre on what is proper to my felfe, 
And puts the habit of a Gouernor on, 
I muft and will preferue my liberty. 
But fpeake of fomething, elfe this is a theame 

I take no pleafure in : what's this Aymeire, 10 

Whofe voyce for Song, and excellent knowledge in 
The chief eft parts of Mufique, you beftow 
Such prayfes on ? 

Bail. He is a Gentleman, 

(For fo his quality fpeakes him) well receiu'd 

Among our greateft Gallants; but yet holds 15 

His maine dependance from the young Lord Nouall: 
Some tricks and crotchets he has in his head, 
As all Muficians haue, and more of him 
I dare not author: but when you haue heard him, 

I may prefume, your Lordfhip fo will like him, 20 

That you'l hereafter be a friend to Mufique. 

Cha. I neuer was an enemy to't, Baumont, 
Nor yet doe I fubfcribe to the opinion 
Of thofe old Captaines, that thought nothing muficall. 
But cries of yeelding enemies, neighing of horfes, 25 

Clafhing of armour, lowd fhouts, drums, and trumpets : 

211 loue — Jove (C, f. 

6 on — omitted by C, M. 

9 , following fomething transferred to follow elje by C, f. 



116 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Nor on the other fide in fauour of it, 

Affirme the world was made by muficall difcord, 

Or that the happineffe of our Hfe confifts 

In a well varied note vpon the Lute : 3^ 

I loue it to the worth of it, and no further. 

But let vs fee this wonder. 

Bail. He preuents 

My calling of him. 

Aym. Let the Coach be brought Enter Aymiere. 

To the backe gate, and ferue the banquet vp : 

My good Lord Charalois, I thinke my houfe 35 

Much honor'd in your prefence. 

Cha. To haue meanes 

To know you better, fir, has brought me hither 
A willing vifitant, and you'l crowne my welcome 
In making me a witneffe to your fkill, 
Which crediting from others I admire. 4° 

Aym. Had I beene one houre fooner made acquainted 
With your intent my Lord, you fhould haue found me 
Better prouided : now fuch as it is, 
Pray you grace with your acceptance. 

Bait. You are modeft. 

Begin the laft new ayre. 

Cha. Shall we not fee them? 45 

Aym. This little diftance from the inftruments 
Will to your eares conuey the harmony 
With more delight. 

CJia. He not confent. 

Aym. Y'are tedious, 

By this meanes fhall I with one banquet pleafe 

31 of it— oft (G., S. 

32 and 33 He . . . him. — printed as one line in Q. 

33, s. d. — G. & S. read : Enter Aymer, speaking to one within. 

45, after ayre. — G. & S. insert s. d. : To the Musicians within. 

48 confent — content (C, f. — a correct emendation. 

48 Y'are — You are (G., S. 

48, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : To the Musicians. 

Before 49 — S. inserts s. d. : Aside. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 117 

Two companies, thofe within and thefe Guls heere. 50 

Song aboue. 

Miifique and a Song, Beaumelle zvithin — ha, ha, ha. 

Cha. How's this? It is my Ladies laugh ! moft certaine 
When I firft pleas'd her, in this merry language, 
She gaue me thanks. 

Ban. How like you this? 

Cha. 'Tis rare, 

Yet I may be deceiu'd, and fhould be forry 55 

Vpon vncertaine fuppofitions, rafhly 
To write my felfe in the blacke lift of thofe 
I haue declaym'd againft, and to Romont. 

Aym. I would he were well of — perhaps your Lordfhip 
Likes not thefe fad tunes, I haue a new Song 60 

Set to a lighter note, may pleafe you better ; 
Tis cal'd The happy husband. 

Cha. Pray fing it. 

Song helozv. At the end of the Song, Beaumelle zmthin. 

Beau. Ha, ha, 'tis fuch a groome. 

Cha. Doe I heare this. 

And yet ftand doubtfull? Exit 

Aym. Stay him I am vndone, Chara. 

And they difcouered. 

Ban. Whats the matter? 

Aym. Ah ! 65 

That women, when they are well pleas'd, cannot hold. 
But muft laugh out. Enter Noiiall In. Charaloys, 

After 50, s. d. : Song — i. e. the Cittizcns Song of the Courtier, on page 
146. — introduced here in text by Cunningham and S. 
52, end — C. & M. punctuate with — ; G. & S. with . . 
54, after thanks — G. & S. insert s. d. : Aside. 
58, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : Aside. 

62 Pray fing — Pray you sing (G. 

s. d. after 62, Song below — Song by Aynicr (G., S.; it is the Courtiers 
Song of the' Citizen, page 146. — introduced here in text by Cunningham 
and S. 

63 and 64 Doe . . . doubtfull? — printed as one line in Q. 
66 they are — they're (C, f. 

67, s. d. — Enter Nouall lu. Charaloys. — Enter Charalois, zvith his sword 
drazvn, pursuing Novall junior, etc. (G.. S. 



118 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Nou. Helpe, faue me, murrher, murther. Beaumley, 

Bean. Vndone foreuer. Bellapert. 

Cha. Oh, my heart ! 

Hold yet a Httle — doe not hope to fcape 

By flight, it is impoffible : though I might 70 

On all aduantage take thy life, and iuftly ; 
This fword, my fathers fword, that nere was drawne, 
But to a noble purpofe, fhall not now 
Doe th' office of a hangman, I referue it 

To right mine honour, not for a reuenge 75 

So poore, that though with thee, it fhould cut ofif 
Thy family, with all that are allyed 
To thee in luft, or bafeneffe, 'twere ftill fhort of 
All termes of fatisfaction. Draw. 

Nou. I dare not, 

I haue already done you too much wrong, 80 

To fight in fuch a caufe. 

Cha. Why, dareft thou neyther 

Be honeft, coward, nor yet valiant, knaue? 
In fuch a caufe come doe not fhame thy felfe : 
Such whofe bloods wrongs, or wrong done to themfelues 
Could neuer heate, are yet in the defence 85 

Of their whores, daring looke on her againe. 
You thought her worth the hazard of your foule. 
And yet ftand doubt full in her quarrell, to 
Venture your body. 

Ban. No, he feares his cloaths. 

More then his flefh 

Cha. Keepe from me, garde thy life, 90 

Or as thou haft liu'd like a goate, thou fhalt 
Dye like a fheepe. 

Nou. Since ther's no remedy They fight, Noitall 

Defpaire of fafety now in me proue courage. is flaine. 

Cha. How foone weak wrong's or'throwne ! lend me your hand, 

68 Vndone foreuer — Undone, undone, forever! (G. — C. & M. give this 
speech to Bellapert. 
74 th'—the (G., S. 

82 M., f . omit ,'s after honeft and valiant. 
86 daring looke — daring. Look (C, f. 
89 and 90 No . . . flefh — printed as one line in Q. 
93 of — its / is almost invisible in Q. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 119 

Beare this to the Caroach — come, you haue taught me 95 

To fay you muft and fhall : I wrong you not, 

Y'are but to keepe him company you loue. 

Is't done? 'tis well. Raife officers, and take care. 

All you can apprehend within the houfe 

May be forth comming. Do I appeare much mou'd? lOO 

Bau. No, fir. 

Cha. My grief es are now, Thus to be borne. 

Hereafter ile finde time and place to mourne. 

Exeunt. 



Scaena 5. Enter Romont, Pontalier. 
[A Street] 

Pont. I was bound to feeke you, fir. 

Rotn. And had you found me 

In any place, but in the ftreete, I fhould 
Haue done, — not talk'd to you. Are you the Captaine ? 
The hope full Pontalier? whom I haue feene 

Doe in the field fuch feruice, as then made you 5 

Their enuy that commanded, here at home 
To play the parafite to a gilded knaue, 
And it may be the Pander. 

Pont. Without this 

I come to call you to account, for what 

Is paft already. I by your example 10 

Of thankfulneffe to the dead Generall 
By whom you were rais'd, haue practis'd to be fo 
To my good Lord Nouall, by whom I liue ; 
Whofe leaft difgrace that is, or may be ofifred. 

With all the hazzard of my life and fortunes, 15 

I will make good on you, or any man, 

95 haue — its c is almost invisible in Q. 

96 ; -? (G. 

96, after fhall G. & S. insert s. d. : Exeunt Beaumont and Bellapert, 
mith the body of Nouall; follozved by Bcaumclle. 

97 Y'are — you are (G., S. 

97, end G. & S. insert s. d. : Re-enter Beaumont. 
3 not — nor (C. 

8 . —? (C, f. 



120 THE FATAL DOWRY 

That has a hand in't ; and fince you allowe me 

A Gentleman and a fouldier, there's no doubt 

You will except againft me. You fhall meete 

With a faire enemy, you vnderftand 20 

The right I looke for, and muft haue. 

Ro^n. I doe, 

And with the next dayes funne you fhall heare from me. 

Exeunt. 



Scaena 4. Enter Charalois zvith a casket, Beaitmclle, Baumont. 
[A Room in Charalois' House] 

Cha. Pray beare this to my father, at his leafure 
He may perufe it: but with your beft language 
Intreat his inftant prefence : you haue fworne 
Not to reueale what I haue done. 

Bau. Nor will I — 

But— 

Cha. Doubt me not, by Heauen, I will doe nothing 5 

But what may ftand with honour : Pray you leaue me 
To my owne thoughts. If this be to me, rife; 
I am not worthy the looking on, but onely 
To feed contempt and fcorne, and that from you 

Who with the loffe of your faire name haue caus'd it, 10 

Were too much cruelty. 

Beau. I dare not moue you 

To heare me fpeake. I know my fault is farre 
Beyond qualification, or excufe. 
That 'tis not fit for me to hope, or you 

To thinke of mercy ; onely I prefume 15 

To intreate, you would be pleas'd to looke vpon 
My forrow for it, and heleeue, thefe teares 
Are the true children of my griefe and not 
A womans cunning. 

Cha. Can you Beaumelle, 

4 and 5 Nor . . . but printed as one line in Q. 

6, end — C. f. insert s. d. : Exit Beaumont. 

7, end — C, f . insert s. d. : Beaumelle kneels. 
8 worthy — worth (G., S. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 121 

Hauing deceiued fo great a triift as mine, 20 

Though I were all credulity, hope againe 

To get beleefe? no, no, if you looke on me 

With pity or dare practife any meanes 

To make my fufferings leffe, or giue iuft caufe 

To all the world, to thinke what I muft doe 25 

Was cal'd vpon by you, vfe other waies. 

Deny what I haue feene, or iuftifie 

What you haue done, and as you defperately 

Made fhipwracke of your fayth to be a whore, 

Vfe th' armes of fuch a one, and fuch defence, 30 

And multiply the finne, with impudence, 

Stand boldly vp, and tell me to my teeth, 

You haue done but what's warranted, 

By great examples, in all places, where 

Women inhabit, vrge your owne deferts, 35 

Or want of me in merit ; tell me how. 

Your dowre from the lowe gulfe of pouerty, 

Weighed vp my fortunes, to what now they are : 

That I was purchas'd by your choyfe and practife 

To fhelter you from fhame : that you might finne 40 

As boldly as fecurely, that poore men 

Are married to thofe wiues that bring them wealth. 

One day their husbands, but obferuers euer : 

That when by this prou'd vfage you haue blowne 

The fire of my iuft vengeance to the height, 45 

I then may kill you : and yet fay 'twas done 

In heate of blood, and after die my felfe. 

To witneffe my repentance. 

Beau. O my fate. 

That neuer would confent that I fhould fee, 

How worthy thou wert both of loue and duty 5*^ 

Before I loft you ; and my mifery made 

30 th' — the (G., S. 

33 variously emended for defective metre : That you have done but 
what's warranted, (C, M. ; That you have done but what is warranted, 
(G. ; You have done merely but what's warranted, (S. 

36 of me in — in me of (C., M., S. The emendation is unnecessary. 

38 now they — they now (G. 

50 thou wert — you were (G., S. 



122 THE FATAL DOWRY 

The glaffe, in which I now behold your vertue : 

While I was good, I was a part of you, 

And of two, by the vertuous harmony 

Of our f aire minds, made one ; but fince I wandred 55 

In the foi-ibidden Labyrinth of luft, 

What was infeparable, is by me diuided. 

With iuftice therefore you may cut me off, 

And from your memory, wafh the remembrance 

That ere I was like to fome vicious purpofe 60 

Within your better iudgement, you repent of 

And ftudy to forget. 

Cha. O Beaumcllc, 

That you can fpeake fo well, and doe fo ill ! 
But you had been too great a bleffing, if 

You had continued chaft : fee how you force me 65 

To this, becaufe my honour will not yeeld 
That I againe fhould loue you. 

Beau. In this life 

It is not fit you fhou d : yet you fhall finde, 
Though I was bold enough to be a ftrumpet, 

I dare not yet hue one : let thofe f am'd matrones 70 

That are canoniz'd worthy of our fex, 
Tranfcend me in their fanctity of life, 
I yet will equall them in dying nobly. 
Ambitious of no honour after life. 
But that when I am dead, you will forgiue me. 75 

Cha. How pity fteales vpon me ! fhould I heare her 
But ten words more, I were loft — one knocks, go in. Knock 

That to be mercifull fh uld be a finne. within. 

O, fir, moft welcome. Let me take your cloake, Exit Beau- 

I muft not be denyed — here are your robes, melle. 80 

As you loue iuftice once more put them on : Enter 

There is a caufe to be determind of Rochfort. 

That doe's require fuch an integrity. 
As you haue euer vs'd — ile put you to 

60. after was — ; (C, f. 
61 Within — Which in (M., f. 

77, post — The three s. d.'s are made by C, f. to follow respectively 
lines 76, 77, and 78. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 123 

The tryall of your conftancy, and goodneffe : 85 

And looke that you that haue beene Eagle-eyd 

In other mens affaires, proue not a Mole 

In what concernes your felfe. Take you your feate : 

I will be for you prefently. Exit. 

Roch. Angels guard me, 

To what ftrange Tragedy does this deftruction 90 

Serue for a Prologue? Enter Charaloys with Nonals 

Cha. So, fet it downe before body. Beaumelle, Bau- 

The ludgement feate, and ftand you at the bar : mont. 

For me ? I am the accufer. 

Roch. Nouall flayne, 

And Beaumelle my daughter in the place 
Of one to be arraign'd. 

Cha. O, are you touch'd? 95 

I finde that I muft take another courfe, 
Feare nothing. I will onely blind your eyes, 
For lustice fhould do fo, when 'tis to meete 
An obiect that may fway her equall doome 

From what it fhould be aini'd at. — Good my Lord, lOO 

A day of hearing. 

Roch. It is granted, fpeake — 

You fhall haue iuftice. 

Cha. I then here accufe, 

Moft equall Judge, the prifoner your faire Daughter, 
For whom I owed fo much to you : your daughter, 
So worthy in her owne parts : and that worth 105 

Set forth by yours, to whofe fo rare perfections, 
Truth witneffe with me, in the place of leruice 
I almoft pay'd Idolatrous facrifice 

89 be for — before (C, M. 

90 deftruction — induction (G., S., following the suggestion of M. 

91, s. d. — G. & S. omit phrase with Nouals body, and affix to s. d. 
with Servants bearing the Body of Novall junior. 

92, after feate, — G. & S. insert s. d. : Exeunt Servants. 
93 me — the e is obliterated in Q. 

93 f - (C., f. 

96, end — C. & M. insert s. d. : He hoodwinks Rochfort. G. & S. place 
a similar s. d. at the end of the following line. 

loi and 102 It . . . iuftice — printed as one line in Q. 



124 THE FATAL DOWRY 

To be a falfe advltreffe. 

Roch. With whom? 

Cha. With this Nouall here dead. 

Roch. Be wel aduis'd no 

And ere you fay adultreffe againe, 
Her fame depending on it, be moft fure 
That fhe is one. 

Cha. I tooke them in the act. 

I know no proofe beyond it. 

Roch. O my heart. 

Cha. A ludge fhould feele no paffions. 

Roch. Yet remember 115 

He is a man, and cannot put off nature. 
What anfwere makes the prifoner? 

Beau. I confeffe 

The fact I am charg'd with, and yeeld my felfe 
Moft miferably guilty. 

Roch. Heauen take mercy 

Vpon your foule then : it muft leaue your body. 120 

Now free mine eyes, I dare vnmou'd looke on her, 
And fortifie my fentence, with ftrong reafons. 
Since that the pohtique law prouides that feruants, 
To whofe care we commit our goods fhall die, 

If they abufe our truft : what can you looke for, 125 

To whofe charge this moft hope full Lord gaue vp 
All he receiu'd from his braue Anceftors, 
Or he could leaue to his pofterity ? 
His Honour, wicked woman, in whose fafety 

All his lifes ioyes, and comforts were locked vp, 130 

With thy luft, a theefe hath now ftolne from him. 
And therefore — 

Cha. Stay, iuft ludge, may not what's loft 

By her owne fault, (for I am charitable, 
And charge her not with many) be forgotten 
In her faire life hereafter? 

121, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : Charalois unbinds his eyes. 

131 With— Which (M., f. 

131, after thy — G. says a monosyllable has been lost here. S. inserts 
foul. But an acceptable rhythm is secured by the natural stress of the 
voice, which emphasizes and dwells upon thy, and again stresses kept. 

133 owne — one (M., f. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 125 

Roch. Neuer, Sir. 135 

The wrong that's done to the chafte married bed, 
Repentant teares can neuer expiate, 
And be affured, to pardon fuch a finne, 
Is an offence as great as to commit it. 

Cha. I may not then forgiue her. 

Roch. Nor fhe hope it. 140 

Nor can fhe wifh to Hue no funne fhall rife, 
But ere it fet, fhall fhew her vgly luft 
In a new fhape, and euery on more horrid : 
Nay, euen thofe prayers, which with fuch humble feruor 
She feemes to fend vp yonder, are beate backe, 145 

And all fuites, which her penitance can proffer. 
As soone as made, are with contempt throwne 
Off all the courts of mercy. He kills her. 

Cha. Let her die then. 

Better prepar'd I am. Sure I could not take her, 

Nor fhe accufe her father, as a ludge 150 

Partiall againft her. 

Beau. I approue his fentence. 

And kiffe the executioner ; my luft 
Is now run from me in that blood ; in which 
It was begot and nourifhed. 

Roch. Is fhe dead then ? 

Cha. Yes, fir, this is her heart blood, is it not? 155 

I thinke it be. 

Roch. And you haue kild here? 

Cha. True, 

And did it by your doome 

140, after her . — ? (C, f. 

141 Hue no — Hue. No (C, M. — Hue: no (G.. S. 

143 on — one (C, f. 

147, end — G. & S. insert out, changing first word of 1. 148 to Of. 
C. & M. make Off of 1. 148 conclude 147, and insert From to begin 1. 148. 
It is preferable to let the line stand as it is, letting the voice, in reading, 
dwell and pause upon are. 

148 s. d., He kits her. transferred to end of line by C, f. 

149 / am. Sure — / am sure (M. — I'm sure (G., S. 
154, after nourifhed. — C., f. inserts s. d. : Dies. 

156 and 157 True . . . doome — printed as one line in Q. 



126 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Roch. But I pronounc'd it 

As a ludge onely, and friend to iuftice, 
And zealous in defence of your wrong'd honour, • 
Broke all the tyes of nature: and caft off i6o 

The loue and foft affection of a father. 
I in your caufe, put on a Scarlet robe 
Of red died cruelty, but in returne, 
You haue aduanc'd for me no flag of mercy : 

I look'd on you, as a wrong'd husband, but 165 

You clos'd your eyes againft me, as a father, 

Beaumelle, my daughter. 

Cha. This is madneffe. 

Roch. Keepe from me — could not one good thought rife vp. 
To tell you that fhe was my ages comfort, 

Begot by a weake man, and borne a woman, 170 

And could not therefore, but partake of frailety? 
Or wherefore did not thankfulneffe ftep forth, 
To vrge my many merits, which I may 
Obiect vnto you, fince you proue vngratefull. 
Flinty-hearted Charaloysf 

Cha. Nature does preuaile 175 

Aboue your vertue. 

Roch. No ! it giues me eyes. 

To pierce the heart of defigne againft me. 

1 finde it now, it was my ftate was aym'd at, 

A nobler match was fought for, and the houres 

I liu'd, grew teadious to you : my compaffion 180 

Towards you hath rendred me moft miferable, 

And f oolifh charity vndone my felf e : 

But ther's a Heauen aboue, from whofe iuft wreake 

No mifts of policy can hide oft'endors. Enter Noiiall fe. 

Nou. fe. Force ope the doors — O monfter, caniball, with 185 
Lay hold on him, my fonne, my fonne. — O Rochfort, Officers. 

158 and friend — and a friend (C, f. 

175 Flinty Flint- (G., S. 

175 and 176 Nature . . . vertue. — printed as one line in Q. 
177, after of — C, f. insert' your. But the change is not required by the 
sense; nor by the metre, if the voice be allowed to dwell on heart. 
184 s. d. : Enter Nouall, etc. — G. & S. place after doors in next line. 
185, before Force — G. & S. insert s. d. : Within. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 127 

'Twas you gaue liberty to this bloody wolfe 
To worry all our comforts, — But this is 
No time to quarrell ; now giue your affiftance 
For the reuenge. 

Roch. Call it a fitter name — 190 

luftice for innocent blood. 

Cha. Though all confpire 

Againft that life which I am weary of, 
A little longer yet ile ftriue to keepe it, 
To fhew in fpite of malice, and their lawes. 
His plea muft fpeed that hath an honeft caufe. Exeunt 195 

190 and 191 Call . . . blood. — printed as one line in Q. 



Actus quintus. Scaena prima. 

\A Street\ 
Enter Liladam, Taylor, Officers. 

Lila 

WHy 'tis both moft vnconfcionable, and vntimely 
T'arreft a gallant for his cloaths, before 
He has worne them out : befides you fayd you afk'd 
My name in my Lords bond but for me onely, 

And now you'l lay me vp for't. Do not thinke 5 

The taking meafure of a cuftomer 
By a brace of varlets, though I rather wait 
Neuer fo patiently, will proue a fafhion 
Which any Courtier or Innes of court man 
Would follow wilHngly. 

Tayl. There I beleeue you. lO 

But fir, I muft haue prefent moneys, or 
Affurance to fecure me, when I fhall. — 
Or I will fee to your comming forth. 

Lila. Plague on't, 

You haue prouided for my enterance in : 

That comming forth you talke of, concernes me. 15 

What fhall I doe ? you haue done me a difgrace 
In the arreft, but more in giuing caufe 
To all the ftreet, to thinke I cannot ftand 
Without thefe two fupporters for my armes : 

Pray you let them loofe me : for their fatisf action 20 

I will not run away. 

Tayl. For theirs you will not, 

Enter, etc. Officers — two Bailiffs. (G., S. 
2 T'arreft — To arrest (G., S. 
4 for me — for form (M., f. 
16 you haue — you've (C, M. 

128 



THE FATAL DOWRY 129 

But for your owne you would ; looke to them fellows. 

Lila. Why doe you call them fellows ? doe not wrong 
Your reputation fo, as you are meerely 

A Taylor, faythfull, apt to beleeue in Gallants 25 

You are a companion at a ten crowne fupper 
For cloth of bodkin, and may with one Larke 
Eate vp three manchets, and no man obferue you, 
Or call your trade in queftion for't. But when 

You ftudy your debt-booke, and hold correfpondence 30 

With officers of the hanger, and leaue fwordmen, 
The learned conclude, the Taylor and Sergeant 
In the expreffion of a knaue are thefe 
To be Synonima. Looke therefore to it, 

And let vs part in peace, I would be loth 35 

You fhould vndoe your felfe. 

Tayl. To let you goe Enter old Nouall, 

Were the next way. and Pontalier. 

But fee ! heeres your old Lord, 
Let him but giue his worde I fhall be paide. 
And you are free. 

Lila. S'lid, I will put him to't : 

I can be but denied : or what fay you ? 40 

His Lordfhip owing me three times your debt. 
If you arreft him at my fuite, and let me 
Goe run before to fee the action entred. 
'Twould be a witty ieft. 

Tayl. I muft haue erneft : 

I cannot pay my debts fo. 

Pont. Can your Lordfhip 45 

Imagine, while I Hue and weare a fword, 
Your fonnes death fhall be reueng'd? 

22 them — him (C, f. The Q. reading is preferable in every way. 

24 fo — M. omits. 

26 You are — You're (C, M. 

32, after and — G. & S. insert the. 

33 are thefe — or thief (M. — and thief (G., S., which seems slightly the 
more probable correction. 

34 Synonima — synonymous (C, M. 

36, end s. d. — C, f. place s. d. after felfe. 

39 / will — I'll ( C, m. 

47 reueng'd — un-revenged (C, f., — an obviously correct emendation. 



130 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Noil. fe. I know not 

One reafon why you fhould not doe like others : 
I am fure, of all the herd that fed vpon him, 

I cannot fee in any, now hee's gone, 50 

In pitty or in thank fulneffe one true figne 
Of forrow for him. 

Pont. All his bounties yet 

Fell not in fuch vnthankfull ground : 'tis true 
He had weakeneffes, but fuch as few are free from, 
And though none footh'd them leffe then I : for now 55 

To fay that I forefaw the dangers that 
Would rife from cherifhing them, were but vntimely. 
I yet could wifh the iuftice that you feeke for 
In the reuenge,_had been trufted to me. 

And not the vncertaine iffue of the lawes : 60 

'Tas rob'd me of a noble teftimony 
Of what I durft doe for him : but howeuer. 
My forfait life redeem'd by him though dead. 
Shall doe him feruice. 

Nou. fe. As farre as my griefe 

Will giue me leaue, I thanke you. 

Lila. Oh my Lord, 65 

Oh my good Lord, deliuer me from thefe furies. 

Pont. Arrefted? This is one of them whofe bafe 
And obiect flattery helpt to digge his graue : 
He is not worth your pitty, nor my anger. 
Goe to the bafket and repent. 

Nou. fe. Away 70 

I onely know now to hate thee deadly : 
I will doe nothing for thee. 

Lila. Nor you, Captaine, 

Pont. No, to your trade againe, put oflf this cafe, 
It may be the difcouering what you were, 

When your vn fortunate mafter tooke you vp, 75 

May moue compaffion in your creditor. 

57, end . — (C, f. 
61 'Tas— It has (M., f. 
68 obiect — abject (C, f. 

70 and 71 Away . . . deadly: — printed as one line in Q. 
71, after knozv — G. & S. insert thee, which secures a smoother metre, but 
is not warranted. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 131 

Confeffe the truth. Exit Nouall fe. Pont. 

Lila. And now I thinke on't better, 

I will, brother, your hand, your hand, fweet brother. 
I am of your feet, and my gallantry but a dreame. 
Out of which thefe two fearefull apparitions 8o 

Againft my will haue wak'd me. This rich fword 
Grew fuddenly out of a taylors bodkin ; 
Thefe hangers from my vailes and fees in Hell : 
And where as now this beauer fits, full often 

A thrifty cape compos'd of broad cloth lifts, 85 

Nere kin vnto the cufhion where I fate. 
Croffe-leg'd, and yet vngartred, hath beene feene, 
Our breakefafts famous for the buttred loaues, 
I haue with ioy bin oft acquainted with. 

And therefore vfe a confcience, though it be 90 

Forbidden in our hall towards other men. 
To me that as I haue beene, will againe 
Be of the brotherhood. 

Offi. I know him now : 

He was a prentice to Le Robe at Orleance. 

Lila. And from thence brought by my young Lord, now dead, 95 
Vnto Dijon, and with him till this houre 
Hath bin receiu'd here for a compleate Mounfieur. 
Nor wonder at it : for but tythe our gallants, 
Euen thofe of the firft ranke, and you will finde 

In euery ten, one : peraduenture two, lOO 

That fmell ranke of the dancing fchoole, or fiddle, 
The pantofle or preffing yron : but hereafter 
Weele talke of this. I will furrender vp 
My fuites againe : there cannot be much loffe, 

'Tis but the turning of the lace, with ones 105 

Additions more you know of, and what wants 

79 / am — I'm (C, f. 

84 fits — M. reads fits, the first letter in Q. not being certainly distin- 
guishable as / or /. 

85 cape — cap (C, f. 

86 fate— sat, (C, f. 

93 Offi.— I Bail. (G., S. 
97 Hath— Have (M., G. 

105 ones — one (C., f. 

106 Additions — Addition (C., f. 



132 THE FATAL DOWRY 

I will worke out. 

Tayl. Then here our quarrell ends. 

The gallant is turn'd Taylor, and all friends. Exeunt. 



Scaena 2. Enter Romont, Baumont. 
{The Court of Justice] 

Rom. You haue them ready. 

Ban. Yes, and they will fpeake 

Their knowledg in this caufe, when thou thinkft fit 
To haue them cal'd vpon. 

Rom. 'Tis well, and fomething 

I can adde to their euidence, to proue 

This braue reuenge, which they would haue cal'd murther, 5 

A noble luftice. 

Ban. In this you expreffe 

(The breach by my Lords want of you, new made vp) 
A faythfuU friend. 

Rom. That friendfhip's rays'd on fand, 

Which euery fudden guft of difcontent, 

Or flowing of our paffions can change, 10 

As if it nere had bin : but doe you know 
Who are to fit on him ? 

Bail. Mounfieur Du Croy 

Affifted by Charmi. 

Rom. The Aduocate 

That pleaded for the Marfhalls funerall, 
And was checkt for it by Noiiall. 

Ban. The fame 15 

Rom. How fortunes that? 

Bau. Why, fir, my Lord Nouall 

Being the accufer, cannot be the fudge, 
Nor would grieue Rochfort, but Lord Charaloys 

2 thou thinkft — you think (G., S. 

7 new — now (M. 

15, after Noualt . —? (G., S. 

18 grieue — grieved (M., f., a correct emendation. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 133 

(Howeuer he might wrong him by his power,) 
Should haue an equall hearing. 

Rom. By my hopes 20 

Of Charaloys acquitall, I lament 
That reuerent old mans fortune. 

Bail. Had you feene him, 

As to my griefe I haue now promis'd patience, 
And ere it was beleeu'd, though fpake by him 

That neuer brake his word, inrag'd againe 25 

So far as to make warre vpon thofe heires 
Which not a barbarous Sythian durft prefume 
To touch, but with a fuperftitious feare. 
As fomething facred, and then curfe his daughter, 

But with more frequent violence himfelfe, 30 

As if he had bin guilty of her fault. 
By being incredulous of your report, 
You would not onely iudge him worrhy pitty. 
But fufifer with him. Enter Charalois, with 

But heere comes the prifoner. Officers. 
I dare not ftay to doe my duty to him, 35 

Yet reft affur'd, all poffible meanes in me 
To doe him feruice, keepes you company. Exit Ban. 

Roni: It is not doubted. 

Cha. Why, yet as I came hither. 

The people apt to mocke calamity. 

And tread on the opprefs'd, made no homes at me, 40 

Though they are too familiar : I deferue them. 
And knowing what blood my fword hath drunke 
In wreake of that difgrace, they yet forbare 
To fhake their heads, or to reuile me for 

A murtherer, they rather all put on 45 

(As for great loffes the old Romans vs'd) 
A generall face of forrow, waighted on 

23, after haue — C, f. insert , . 

23 promis'd — promise (C, f. 

26 heires — i. e., of course, hairs; — so modernized by C, f. 

22 worrhy — Q. misprint for worthy ; — corrected by C, f. 

39, after people — C, f. insert , . 

42, after knowing — M., f. insert too. 



134 



THE FATAL DOWRY 



By a fad murmur breaking through their filence, 

And no eye but was readier with a teare 

To witneffe 'twas fhed for me, then I could 50 

Difcerne a face made vp with fcorne againft me. 

Why fhould I then, though for vnufuall wrongs', 

I chofe vnufuall meanes to right thofe wrongs, 

Condemne my felfe, as ouer-partiall 

In my owne caufe Romont? 

Rom. Beft friend, well met, 55 

By my hearts loue to you, and ioyne to that. 
My thankfulneffe that ftill lines to the dead, 
I looke vpon you now with more true ioy. 
Then when I faw you married. 

Cha. You haue reafon 

To giue you warrant for't ; my falling off 60 

From fuch a friendfhip with the fcorne that anfwered 
Your too propheticke counfell, may well moue you 
To thinke your meeting me going to my death, 
A fit encounter for that hate which iuftly 
I haue deferu'd from you. 

Rom. Shall I ftill then 65 

Speake truth, and be ill vnderftood ? 

Cha. You are not. 

I am confcious, I haue wrong'd you, and allow me 
Only a morall man to looke on you. 
Whom foolifhly I haue abus'd and iniur'd, 

Muft of neceffity be more terrible to me, 70 

Then any death the Judges can pronounce 
From the tribunall which I am to plead at. 

Rom. Paffion tranfports you. 

Cha. For what I haue done 

To my falfe Lady, or Noitall, I can 

Giue fome apparent caufe : but touching you, 75 

In my defence, childlike, I can fay nothing, 

55, after caufe — . — (C, M. — F — (G., S., which is right. 

67 / am — I'm (C, M. 

68, after man — M. inserts , , and G. & S. ; — . 

76, end G. & S. omit , . 



THE FATAL DOWRY 135 

But I am forry for't, a poore fatis faction : 
And yet miftake me not : for it is more 
Then I will fpeake, to haue my pardon fign'd 
For all I ftand accus'd of. 

Rom. You much weaken 80 

The ftrength of your good caufe. Should you but thinke 
A man for doing well could entertaine 
A pardon, were it ofifred, you haue giuen 
To blinde and flow-pac'd iuftice, wings, and eyes 

To fee and ouertake impieties, 85 

Which from a cold proceeding had receiu'd 
Indulgence or protection. 

Cha. Thinke you fo? 

Rom. Vpon my foule nor fhould the blood you chalenge 
And took to cure your honour, breed more fcruple 

In your foft confcience, then if your fword 90 

Had bin fheath'd in a Tygre, or fhe Beare, 
That in their bowels would haue made your tombe 
To iniure innocence is more then murther : 
But when inhumane lufts trans forme vs, then 

Like beafts we are to fuffer, not like men 95 

To be lamented. Nor did Charalois euer 
Performe an act fo worthy the applaufe 
Of a full theater of perfect men. 
As he hath done in this : the glory got 

By ouerthrowing outward enemies, lOO 

Since ftrength and fortune are maine fharers in it, 
We cannot but by pieces call our owne : 
But when we conquer our inteftine foes. 
Our paffions breed within vs, and of thofe 

The moft rebellious tyrant powerfuU loue, 105 

Our reafon fufifering vs to like no longer 
Then the faire obiect being good deferues it, 
That's a true victory, which, were great men 
Ambitious to atchieue, by your example 

77, after But — G. & S. insert , . 

80 and 81 You . . . caufc. — printed as one line in Q. 

88 chalenge — challenged (G., S. — a correct emendation. 

91 Tygre — tigress (C., M. 

104 breed — bread (C., f. The Q. reading is perfectly satisfactory. 



136 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Setting no price vpon the breach of fayth, no 

But loffe of life, 'twould fright adultery 
Out of their families, and make luft appeare 
As lothfome to vs in the first confent. 
As when 'tis wayted on by punifhment. 

Clia. You haue confirm'd me. Who would loue a woman 115 
That might inioy in fuch a man, a friend ? 
You haue made me know the iuftice of my caufe, 
And mark't me out the way, how to defend it. 

Rom. Continue to that refolution conftant. 
And you fhall, in contempt of their worft malice, 120 

Come off with honour. Heere they come. 

Cha. I am ready. 



Scaena 5. Enter Du Croy, Charmi, Rochfort, Nouall fe. 
Pontalier, Baumont. 

Nou. fe. See, equall fudges, with what confidence 
The cruel murtherer ftands, as if he would 
Outface the Court and Iuftice ! 

Roch. But looke on him. 

And you fhall find, for ftill methinks I doe, 

Though guilt hath dide him black, fomething good in him, 5 

That may perhaps worke with a wifer man 
Then I haue beene, againe to fet him free 
And giue him all he has. 

Charmi. This is not well. 

I would you had liu'd fo, my Lord that I, 

Might rather haue continu'd your poore feruant, 10 

Then fit here as your Judge. 

Du Croy I am forry for you. 

Roch. In no act of my life I haue deferu'd 
This iniury from the court, that any heere 
Should thus vnciuilly vfurpe on what 
Is proper to me only. 

117 You haue — You've (C, M. 

Scaena 3 — omitted by G. & S., — and correctly so, for there is no change 
in place from the preceding, and the action is uninterrupted. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 137 

Du Cr. What diftafte 15 

Receiues my Lord ? 

Roch. You fay you are forry for him : 

A griefe in which I muft not haue a partner: 
'Tis I alone am forry, that I rays'd 
The building of my life for feuenty yeeres 

Vpon fo fure a ground, that all the vices 20 

Practis'd to ruine man, though brought againft me, 
Could neuer vndermine, and no way left 
To fend thefe gray haires to the graue with forrow. 
Vertue that was my patroneffe betrayd me : 

For entring, nay, poffeffing this young man, 25 

It lent him fuch a powerfull Maiefty 
To grace what ere he vndertooke, that freely 
I gaue myfelfe vp with my liberty, 
To be at his difpofing; had his perfon 

Louely I muft confeffe, or far fain'd valour, 30 

Or any other feeming good, that yet 
Holds a neere neyghbour-hood, with ill wrought on me, 
I might haue borne it better : but when goodneffe 
And piety it felfe in her beft figure 

Were brib'd to by deftruction, can you blame me, 35 

Though I forget to fufTer like a man, 
Or rather act a woman ? 

Bail. Good my Lord. 

Nou. jc. You hinder our proceeding. 

Charmi. And forget 

The parts of an accufer. 

Bau. Pray you remember 

To vfe the temper which to me you promis'd. 40 

Roch. Angels themfelues muft breake Baumont, that promife 
Beyond the ftrength and patience of Angels. 
But I haue done, my good Lord, pardon me 
A weake old man, and pray adde to that 

18, after that — M., f. insert when. See Notes. 

30 fain'd famed (M., f. 

2,2 — , after neyghbour-hood in Q. is placed after /// by C, f. 

35 by— my (C, f. 

44, after pray — G. & S. insert you. 



138 THE FATAL DOWRY 

A miferable father, yet be carefull 45 

That your compaffion of my age, nor his, 
Moue you to anything, that may dif-become 
The place on which you fit. 

Charmi. Read the Inditement. 

Cha. It fhall be needeleffe, I my felfe, my Lords, 
Will be my owne accufer, and confeffe 50 

All they can charge me with, or will I fpare 
To aggrauate that guilt with circumftance 
They feeke to loade me with : onely I pray. 
That as for them you will vouchfafe me hearing: 
I may not be, denide it for my felfe, 55 

When I fhall vrge by what vnanfwerable reafons 
I was compel'd to what I did, which yet 
Till you haue taught me better, I repent not. 

Roch. The motion honeft. 

Charmi. And 'tis freely granted. 

Cha. Then I confeffe my Lords, that I ftood bound, 60 

When with my friends, euen hope it felfe had left me 
To this mans charity for my liberty, 
Nor did his bounty end there, but began : 
For after my enlargement, cherifhing 

The good he did, he made me mafter of 65 

His onely daughter, and his whole eftate : 
Great ties of thankfulneffe I muft acknowledge, 
Could any one freed by you, preffe this further 
But yet confider, my moft honourd Lords, 

If to receiue a fauour, make a feruant, 70 

And benefits are bonds to tie the taker 
To the imperious will of him that giues, 
Ther's none but flaues will receiue courtefie, 
Since they muft fetter vs to our difhonours. 

47 dif-hccomc — mis-become (C, M. 

50 — u in accufer is inverted in Q. 

51 or — nor (C, f. 

59 motion — motion's (C, f. 

60 — n in confeffe is inverted in Q. 
68 freed— feed (M., f. 

68, end —? (C, f. 

72) courtefie — courtesies (C, f. Q. reading is preferable. See Glossary. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 139 

Can it be cal'd magnificence in a Prince, yc 

To powre downe riches, with a Jiberall hand, 

Vpon a poore mans wants, if that muft bind him 

To play the foothing parafite to his vices ? 

Or any man, becaufe he fau'd my hand, 

Prefume my head and heart are at his feruice? 8o 

Or did I ftand ingag'd to buy my freedome 

(When my captiuity was honourable) 

By making my felfe here and fame hereafter, 

Bondflaues to mens fcorne and calumnious tongues ? 

Had his faire daughters mind bin like her feature, 85 

Or for fome little blemifh I had fought 

For my content elfewhere, wafting on others 

My body and her dowry ; my f orhead then 

Deferu'd the brand of bafe ingratitude : 

But if obfequious vfage, and faire warning 90 

To keepe her worth my loue, could preferue her 

From being a whore, and yet no cunning one, 

So to ofifend, and yet the fault kept from me ? 

What fhould I doe? let any freeborne fpirit 

Determine truly, if that thankfulneffe, 95 

Choife forme with the whole world giuen for a dowry. 

Could ftrengthen fo an honeft man with patience. 

As with a willing necke to vndergoe 

The infupportable yoake of flaue or wittoll. 

Charm'i. What proof e haue you fhe did play falfe, befides 100 
your oath? 

Cha. Her owne confeffion to her father. 

I afke him for a witneffe. 

Roch. 'Tis moft true. 

I would not willingly blend my laft words 
With an vntruth. 

Cha. And then to cleere my felfe, 

That his great wealth was not the marke I fhot at, 105 

But that I held it, when faire Beanmelle 

77 that — they (S. 
88 dowry — dower (G., S. 

91 could pre jerue — could not preserve (C, f. The emendation is clearly 
required. 



140 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Fell from her vertue, like the fatall gold 

Which Brennus tooke from Delphos, whofe poffeffion 

Brought with it ruine to himfelfe and Army. 

Heer's one in Court, Baiimont, by whom I fent no 

All graunts and writings backe, which made it mine, 

Before his daughter dy'd by his owne fentence, 

As freely as vnask'd he gaue it to me. 

Bau. They are here to be feene. 

Charmi. Open the casket. 

Perufe that deed of gift. 

Rom. Halfe of the danger 115 

Already is difcharg'd : the other part 
As brauely, and you are not onely free, 
But crownd with praife for euer. 

Du Cray. 'Tis apparent. 

Charmi. Your ftate, my Lord, againe is yours. 

Roch. Not mine, 

I am not of the world, if it can profper, 120 

(And being iuftly got. He not examine 
Why it fhould be fo fatall) doe you beftow it 
On pious vfes. lie goe feeke a graue. 
And yet for proofe, I die in peace, your pardon 

I aske, and as you grant it me, may Heauen 125 

Your confcience, and thefe ludges free you from Exit 

What you are charg'd with. So farewell for euer. — Roch. 

Nouall fe. He be mine owne guide. Paffion, nor example 
Shall be my leaders. I haue loft a fonne, 

A fonne, graue ludges, I require his blood 130 

From his accurfed homicide. 

Charmi. What reply you 

In your defence for this? 

Cha. I but attended 

Your Lordfhips pleafure. For the fact, as of 
The former, I confeffe it, but with what 

Bafe wrongs I was vnwillingly drawne to it, 135 

To my few wordes there are fome other proofes 
To witneffe this for truth, when I was married : 

137, after truth , — . (M., f. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 141 

For there I muft begin. The flayne Nouall 

Was to my wife, in way of our French courtfhip, 

A moft denoted feruant, but yet aym'd at 140 

Nothing but meanes to quench his wanton heate, 

His heart being neuer warm'd by lawfull fires 

As mine was (Lords:) and though on thefe prefumptions, 

loyn'd to the hate betweene his houfe and mine, 

I might with opportunity and eafe 145 

Haue found a way for my reuenge, I did not ; 

But ftill he had the freedome as before 

When all was mine, and told that he abus'd it 

With fome vnfeemely licence, by my friend 

My appou'd friend Romont, I gaue no credit 150 

To the reporter, but reprou'd him for it 

As one vncourtly and malicious to him. 

What could I more, my Lords? yet after this 

He did continue in his firft purfute 

Hoter then euer, and at length obtaind it ; 155 

But how it came to my moft certaine knowledge. 

For the dignity of the court and my owne honour 

I dare not fay. 

Nou. fe. If all may be beleeu'd 

A paffionate prifoner fpeakes, who is fo foolifh 

That durft be wicked, that will appeare guilty? 160 

No, my graue Lords : in his impunity 
But giue example vnto iealous men 
To cut the throats they hate, and they will neuer 
Want matter or pretence for their bad ends. 

Charmi. You muft find other proofes to ftrengthen thefe 165 

But more prefumptions. 

Dii Croy. Or we fhall hardly 

Allow your innocence. 

Cha. All your attempts 

138, after begin . — , (G., S. — C. & M. inclose For . . . begin in ( )'s. 
139 n in French is inverted in Q. 

150 appou'd — i. e., approu'd; in Q. the r is wanting as above. Later 
editors correct. 
166 more — mere (C, f. See Notes. 



142 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Shall fall on me, like brittle fhafts on armour, 

That breake themfelues ; or like waues againft a rocke, 

That leaue no figne of their ridiculous fury 170 

But foame and fplinters, my innocence like thefe 

Shall ftand triumphant, and your malice ferue 

But for a trumpet ; to proclaime my conqueft 

Nor fhall you, though you doe the worft fate can, 

How ere condemne, affright an honeft man. 175 

Rom. May it pleafe the Court. I may be heard. 

Nou. fe. You come not 

To raile againe ? but doe, you fhall not finde, 
Another Rochfort. 

Rom. In Nouail I cannot. 

But I come furnifhed with what will ftop 

The mouth of his confpiracy againft the life 180 

Of innocent Charaloys. Doe you know this Character? 

Noil. fe. Yes, 'tis my fonnes. 

Rom. May it pleafe your Lordfhips, reade it. 

And you fhall finde there, with what vehemency 
He did foUicite Beaumelle, how he had got 

A promife from her to inioy his wifhes, ' 185 

How after he abiur'd her company. 
And yet, but that 'tis fit I fpare the dead. 
Like a damnd villaine. affoone as recorded, 
He brake that oath, to make this manifeft 
Produce his bands and hers. 

Enter Aymer, Florimell, Bellapert. 

Charmi. Haue they tooke their oathes? 190 

Rom. They haue ; and rather then indure the racke, 
Confeffe the time, the meeting, nay the act; 
What would you more? onely this matron made 
A free difcouery to a good end ; 

168 fall— fail (M. 

169 like — omitted by G. & S. 

170 figne — signs (S. 

180 againft — 'gainst (G., S. 

184 had — omitted by G. 

190 bands — bawds (C., f. 

190, s. d. Enter Aymer, etc. — Enter Officers zvith Aymer, etc. (G., S. 

190 tooke — ta'en (G. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 143 

And therefore I fue to the Court, fhe may not 195 

Be plac'd in the blacke Hft of the dehnquents. 

Pont. I fee by this, Nouals reuenge needs me, 
And I fhall doe. 

Charmi. 'Tis euident. 

Nou. fe. That I 

Till now was neuer wretched, here's no place 
To curfe him or my ftars. Exit Noitall fenior. 

Charmi. Lord Charalois, 200 

The iniurie : you haue fuftain'd, appeare ^ 

So worthy of the mercy of the Court, 
That notwithftanding you haue gone beyond 
The letter of the Law, they yet acquit you. 

Pont. But in Nouall, I doe condemne him thus. 205 

Cha. I am flayne. 

Rom. Can I looke on ? Oh murderous wretch„ 

Thy challenge now I anfwere. So die with him. 

Charmi. A guard : difarme him. 

Rom. I yeeld vp my fword 

Vnforc'd. Oh Charaloys. 

Cha. For fhame, Romont, 

Mourne not for him that dies as he hath liu'd, 2ic> 

Still conftant and vnmou'd : what's f alne vpon me, 
Is by Heauens will, becaufe I made my felfe 
A fudge in my owne caufe without their warrant : 
But he that lets me know thus much in death, 
With all good men forgiue mee. 

Pont. I receiue 215 

The vengeance, which my loue not built on vertue. 
Has made me worthy, worthy of. 

Charmi. We are taught 

201 iniurie: — C, f. read injuries, the colon in the Q. being blurred to 
appear like a broken j. 
205, end. — C, f. insert s. d. : Stabs him. 
206 / am — I'm (C, M. 

207, end — C, f. insert s. d. : Stabs Pontalier. See Notes 
215, after viee. — C, f. insert s. d. : Dies. 
215-217 — lines in Q. are : / . . . loue \ Not ...of. 
217 worthy, worthy of — worthy of (C, M. 
217, after of. — C, f . insert s. d. : Dies. 
217 We are — We're (C, M. 



144 THE FATAL DOWRY 

By this fad prefident, how iuft foeuer 

Our reafons are to remedy our wrongs, 

We are yet to leaue them to their will and power, 220 

That to that purpofe haue authority. 

For you, Romont, although in your excufe 

You may plead, what you did, was in reuenge 

Of the difhonour done vnto the Court : 

Yet fince from vs you had not warrant for it, 225 

We banifh you the State : for thefe, they fhall. 

As they are found guilty or innocent, 

Be fet free, or fuffer punifhment. Exeunt omnes. 



FINIS 



220 IV e are — We're (C. M. 

227 As — A (M., misprint. 

228 Be fet— Or be set (C, M., G.—Be or set (S. 



Firft Song. 

Fie, ceafe to wonder, 
Though you are hcarc Orpheus zvith his luory Lute, 
Moue Trees and Rockes. 
Charme Bids, Beares, and men more fauage to be mute, 
Wcake foolifh finger, here is one, 
Woidd haiie transform'd thy felfe, to ftone. 



Second Song. 

A Dialogue betweene Nouall, and Bcaumelle. 
Man. 

SEt Phoebus, jet, a fayrer funnc doth rife, 
From the bright Radiencc of my Mrs. eyes 
Then euer thou begat'ft. I dare not looke. 
Each haire a golden line, each ivord a hooke, 
The more I ftriue, the more I ftill am tookc. 
Worn. 

Fayre feruant, come, the day thcfe eyes doe lend 
To zvarme thy blood, thou doeft fo vainely fpend. 
Come ftrangled breath. 
Man. 

These songs are printed thus in an Appendix at the end of the play in 
Q., G., and the edition of Hartley Coleridge. The First Song is inserted 
at its proper point in the text — II, i, after line 134 — by C, M., Cunning- 
ham, and S. ; — so, too, the Second Song, after line 131 of II, ii. The other 
two songs were omitted in C, and appear in an appendix of vol. 4 of M., — 
there wrongly assigned (by D.) to the "passage over the stage" which 
closes Act II. Giflford correctly assigns them to follow respectively IV, ii, 
50; and IV, ii, 62; — where they are printed in the text of Cunningham 
and S. 

Firft Song— A DIRGE (G., S. 

Second Song— A SONG BY AYMER (G., S. 

A . . . Nouall, and Beaumelle. — A . . ."a Man and a Woman. (C, f. 

2-4 — lines in Q. : From . . . begafjt. \ I dare . . . line, \ Each word . . . 
hooke, . 

7 doeft— dost (C, f. 

8 Come ftrangled — Come, strangle (M., f. 

145 



146 THE FATAL DOWRY 

What noate jo fivcct as this, 
That calles the fpirits to a further hliffe? 
Worn. 

Yet this oiit-fauours zvine, and this Perfume. lo 

Man. 
Let's die, I languijh, I confume. 

CITTIZENS SONG OF THE COURTIER. 

COurtier, if thou needs zvilt zviue, 
From this Icffon Icarne to thriue. 
If thou match a Lady, that 
Paffes thee in birth and ft ate, 

Let her curious garments be 5 

Twice aboue thine ozvne degree; 
This zvill drazv great eyes vpon her. 
Get her feruants and thee honour. 

COURTIERS SONG OF THE CITIZEN. 

POore Citizen, if thou zvilt be 
A happy husband, learne of me; 
To fet thy zvife firft in thy fhop, 
A fairc zvife, a kindc zvife, a fzveet zvife, jets a poore man vp. 
What though thy fhelues be ne'rc jo bare: 5 

A zvoman jtill is currant zvare: 
Each man zvill cheapen, foe, and friend, 
But zvhilst thou art at tother end, 
What ere thou jeejt, or zvhat dojt heare, 

Foole, haue no eye to, nor an care; 10 

And after jupper for her jake. 
When thou hajt fed, jnort, though thou zvake: 
What though the Gallants call thee momef 
Yet zvith thy lanthorne light her home: 

Then looke into the tozvn and tell, 15 

// no juch Tradejmen there doe dzvell. 

(Citizens Song) 3 and 4 If . . . ftatc, — printed as one line in Q. 

7 feruants — its u is inverted in Q. 

{Courtiers Song) 16 Tradefmcn — tradesman (M. 



NOTES 

[Dramatis personae.] Charalois — the name Charalois is a corruption 
of Charolais, the Count of Charolais being the hereditary title of the 
heir-apparent of the Duchy of Burgundy, for whom the county of 
Charolais, an arriere-fief of Burgundy, was reserved as an appanage. 
This domain had been purchased by Philip the Bold for his son, John the 
Fearless. 

I, i, 4. argue me of — obsolete construction: "accuse me of." Cf. Ray, 
Disc. II, v,'2i3: "Erroneously argues Hubert Thomas ... of a mistake." 

I, i, 7. difpence with — give special exemption from. Cf. I, ii, 87. 

I, i» 33- This fitch — This for this is is a common Elizabethan construc- 
tion. Cf. "O this the poison of deep grief" — Hamlet, IV, v, 76; "This a 
good block " — Lear, IV, vi, 187. 

I, i, 45. tooke vp — borrowed. Cf. Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part H, 
I, ii, 46: "if a man is through with them in honest taking up, they stand 
upon security." 

I, i, 55-6. Your fable habit, with the hat and cloak . . . haue power — 
the details of hat, cloak, and ribbons, interposed between subject and verb, 
have attracted the latter into the plural, to the violation of its agreement 
with its substantive. 

I, i, 70. in that — i. e., in the fact that justice had no such guards. 

I, i. 73-7- For the allusion to Cerberus and the fops, cf. Virgil's picture 
of Aeneas' journey to Hades (Aeneid, VI, 417-425): "Huge Cerberus 
makes these realms to resound with barking from his tripple jaws, 
stretched at his enormous length in a den that fronts the gate. To whom 
the prophetess, seeing his neck now bristle with horrid snakes, flings a 
soporific cake of honey and medicated grain. He, in the mad rage of 
hunger, opening his three mouths, snatches the offered morsel, and, spread 
on the ground, relaxes his monstrous limbs, and is extended at vast length 
over all the cave. Aeneas, now that the keeper [of Hell] is buried [in 
sleep], seizes the passage and swift overpasses the bank of that flood 
whence there is no return." — Davidson's trans. 

I, i, 75- fertyle headed — many hleaded. fertyle is used in the now 
obsolete sense of abundant. 

I, i, 92. fuch, whofe — for the construction, cf. Shakespeare: "Such I 
will have, whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy." — All's Well, 
III, iv, 24. 

I, i, 99. men religious — the adjective is regularly placed after its noun 
in Eliz. Eng. when the substantive is unemphatic and the modifier not a 
mere epithet, but essential to the sense. See Abbott, S. G. § 419. 

I, i, 137-8. — The thought of these lines is undeveloped, the phrasing 
being broken and disconnected. It is a scornful observation on the part 

147 



148 THE FATAL DOWRY 

of Romont that whether or not Novall takes papers depends on how the 
matter is brought before him — and he is about to add that there is a way 
in which Charalois can manage to gain his point, when he breaks off with 
the cry, "Follow him!" Conuayance = contrivance. 

I, i, 164. parchment toils — snares in the shape of documents upon 
parchment, such as bonds, mortgages, etc. 

I, i, 166. Luxury — used here in the modern sense, — not, as more com- 
monly in Elizabethan times, with the meaning, laciviousness, lust. The 
thought of the somewhat involved period which ends with this line is, 
that the creditors prayed only on an occasion when they feared to lose 
their clutch on some rich spendthrift — on which occasion they would 
pray to the devil to invent some new and fantastic pleasure which would 
lure their victim back into the toils. 

I, ii, II. Dijon — the scene of the drama, — situated on the western 
border of the fertile plain of Burgundy, and at the confluence of the 
Ouche and the Suzon. It was formerly the capital of the province of 
Burgundy, the dukes of which acquired it early in the eleventh century, 
and took up their residence there in the thirteenth century. For the 
decoration of the palace and other monuments built by them, eminent 
artists were gathered from northern France and Flanders, and during 
this period the town became one of the great intellectual centers of 
France. The union of the duchy with the crown in 1477 deprived Dijon 
of the splendor of the ducal court, but to counterbalance this loss it was 
made the capital of the province and the seat of a parlement. To-day it 
possesses a population of some 65,000, and is a place of considerable im- 
portance. 

I, ii, 21-3. Nor now . . . that I vndcrtooke, forfake it. — The expression 
is elliptical, the verb of the preceding period being in the future indicative, 
— whereas here the incomplete verb is in the conditional mood. In full : 
Nor now . . . that I undertook, would I forsake it. 

I, ii, 56. determine of — of is the preposition in obs. usage which fol- 
lows determine used, as here, in the sense of decide, come to a judicial 
decision, come to a decision on (upon). Cf. IV, iv, 82. 

I, ii, 57. to — in addition to. 

I, ii, 66. become — modern editors, beginning with Mason, read became; 
but become may be taken as a variant form of the past tense (or even as 
participle for having become, with nom. absolute construction, though 
this is less likely). 

I, ii, 91-2. May force you . . . plead at — i. e. " may cause your dismissal 
from the bar." 

I, ii, 107. purple-colou/d — Novall wears the official red robe of judge. 

I, ii, 123-4. the fubtill Fox of France, The politique Lewis — Louis XI 
of France, an old enemy of Burgundy. 

I, ii, 127. // that, etc. — Gradually, as the interrogatives were recognized 
as relatives, the force of that, so, as, in "when that", "when so", "when 
as", seems to have tended to make the relative more general and indefinite; 



THE FATAL DOWRY 149 

"who so" being now nearly (and once quite) as indefinite as "whoso- 
ever." ... In this sense, by analogy, that was attached to other words, such 
as "if", "though", "why", etc. — Abbott, S. G. § 287. 
Cf. "If that rebellion 

Came like itself, in base and abject routs." 

Henry IV, Part II, IV, i, 32. 
The same construction appears in V, iii, 95. 
I, ii, 163. Writ man — i. e., wrote himself down as a man. 
I, ii, 170, Granjon, Morat, Nancy — the " three memorable overthrows " 
which Charles the Bold suffered at the hands of the Swiss cantons and Duke 
Rene of Loraine. The battle of Granson took place March 3, 1476; that 
of Morat, June 22, 1476; that of Nancy, January 5, 1477. On each occa- 
sion the army of Charles was annihilated; and finally at Nancy he was 
himself slain. These defeats ended the power of Burgundy. 

I, ii, 171. The warlike Charloyes — Charles the Bold, the Duke of Bur- 
gundy. 

I, ii, 185. /// ayres — noxious exhalations, miasma. 
I, ii, 194-5. They are onely good men, that pay what they owe. 
2 Cred. And jo they are. 

I Cred. 'Tis the City Doctrine. 

Cfi Shakespeare in Tlie Merchant of Venice, I, iii, 12 flf. : 
"Shy. Antonio is a good man. 

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary? 
Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no ! My meaning in saying he is a good man is 
to have you understand me that he is sufficient." 

I, ii, 201. right — so in all texts. With this word the meaning is per- 
fectly plain, but the substitution, in its place, of weight would better sustain 
the figure used in the preceding line. Weight is a word which it is not 
unlikely the printer would mis-read from the Ms. as right. 

I, ii, 207. in your danger — regularly, " in your power ", " at your 
mercy " ; so here, " in your debt ". 

I, ii, 245. As — used here in its demonstrative meaning, to introduce a 
parenthetical clause. Cf. Abbott, S. G. § no. 

II, i, 13. jits — the common Elizabethan 3rd. person plural in s, generally 
and without warrant altered by modern editors. See Abbott, S. G. § Zii- 
Cf. keepes, V, ii, 37. 

II, i, 28. was — monies is taken in the collective sense. 

II, i, 46. interd a liuely graue — i. e., enter'd a lively [living] grave. G., 
who first prints it so, considers he has made a change in the first word, 
taking it in the Q. for interr'd, as does M., who suggests in a footnote the 
reading : enters alive the grave. But interd may be, and is best, taken as 
merely an old spelling for enter'd, naturally attracted to the I'-form by the 
presence of the word interment in the preceding line. 

II, i, 62,. Remember bcft, forget not gratitude — ellipsis for: Remember 
best who forget not gratitude. Modern usage confines the omission of the 
relative mostly to the objective. In Eliz. Eng., however, the nominative 



150 THE FATAL DOWRY 

relative was even more frequently omitted, especially when the antecedent 
clause was emphatic and evidently incomplete, and where the antecedent im- 
mediately preceded the verb to which the relative would be subject. See 
Abbott, S. G., § 244. 
Cf. Ill, i, 134-5; i, 139; i, 332; IV, ii, 61. 

II, i, 65. viperous — according to various classical authorities [e. g., Pliny, 
X, 82], the young of vipers eat their way forth to light through the bowels of 
their dam. The figure here seems to be somewhat confused, as the dead 
hero is the son of the country, his mother, who devours him. The thought, 
perhaps, in the mind of the dramatist, albeit ill-expressed, was that the 
mother-country owed her existence to her son, and, viper-like had devoured 
the author of her life. 

II, i, 66. eate — owing to the tendency to drop the inflectional ending -en, 
the Elizabethans frequently used the curtailed forms of past participles, 
which are common in Early English : " I have spoke, forgot, writ, chid," 
etc. — Abbott, S. G., § 343. Cf. broke, II, ii, 27; fpoke, III, i, 3; begot, 
IV, iv, 154; 170. 

II, i, 83. golden coif — the figure, from its immediate application to a 
dolt of great zuealth, is transferred to the false god whom the children of 
Israel worshipped at the foot of Mount Sinai. 

II, i. 93-4- Would they not fo, etc. — the Q. reading is to be preferred 
to either of the modern emendations. It is probably in the sense of 
"Would they no more but so?", with the ensuing declaration that in that 
case they would keep their tears to stop (fill?) bottles (probably meaning 
lachrimatories or phials used in ancient times for the preservation of tears 
of mourning). 

II, i, 98-9. Y'are ne're content, Crying nor laughing — The meaning is, 
of course : " You are never content with us, whether we are crying or 
laughing." 

II, i, 100. Both zvith a birth — i. e., both together, at the same time. 

II, i, 137. Burmudas — The Bermuda islands, known only through the 
tales of early navigators who suflfered shipwreck there, enjoyed a most 
unsavory reputation in Elizabethan times, as being the seat of continual 
tempests, and the surrounding waters " a hellish sea for thunder, lightning, 
and storms." Cf. Shakespeare, The Tempest, I, ii, 269: "the still-vexed 
Bermoothes." They were said to be enchanted, and inhabited by witches 
and devils. They were made famous by the shipwreck there in 1609 of 
Sir George Somers ; the following year one of his party, Sil. Jordan, pub- 
lished A Discovery of the Bermudas, otherwise called the Isle of Devils. 

Field has another reference to " the Barmuthoes " in Amends for Ladies, 
III, iv; but there it is not clear whether he means the islands or certain 
narrow passages north of Covent Garden, which went by the slang name 
of "the Bermudas" or "the Streights." It is in this latter sense that the 
word is used in Jonson's The Devil is an Ass, II, i. 

II, i, 139. Exact the ftrictneffc — i. e., require a strict enforcement of 
the sentence which limits Charalois to the confines of the prison. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 151 

II, i, 144. vfiirers relief, etc. — a rather awkward expression, so phrased 
for the sake of the end-scene rhyme. The thought seems to be: "The 
rehef which usurers have to offer mourns, if the debtors have (exhibit) 
too much grief." Charalois' remark is, of course, ironical. 

II, ii, ID. electuary — a medicinal conserve or paste, consisting of a pow- 
der or some other ingredient mixed with honey, preserve, or syrup of 
some other kind. Beaumelle means that Florimal is the medicine and 
Bellapert the sweet which makes it palatable. 

II, ii, 17. ferue — G. and S. read served, which is certainly correct. 
Not only is there nothing throughout the play to suggest that Beaumelle's 
mother is still alive, but she herself has just spoken of "you two my 
women " (1. 11). 

II, ii, 18. a peepe out — a " pip " [old spelling peepe] is one of the spots 
on playing cards, dice, or dominoes. The allusion is to a game of cards 
called " one-and-thirty " ; thirty-two is a pip too many. 

II, ii, 21-2. tJje mother of the maydes — a title properly applied to the 
head of the maids of honour in a Royal household. 

II, ii, 22. mortifi-e — there is a significant ambiguity to the word Bella- 
pert uses. It means "bring into subjection," "render dead to the world 
and the flesh;" it formerly had also a baleful meaning: "to kill;" "to 
destroy the vitality, vigor, or activity of." 

II, ii, 32. vanuable, to make you thus — valuable is used in its generic 
sense of value-able, of sufficient value. 

II, ii, 71. turn'd in her varieties — G., S. read : trimm'd in her varieties 
— i. e., "decked in her varieties [varied aspects]." But adherence to the 
Q. is possible, with the meaning, " fashioned in her varieties." 

II, ii, 82. walkes not vnder a weede — i. e., " wears not a garment," " is 
not in existence." 

II, ii, 88. Tiffiie — a rich kind of cloth, often interwoven with gold or 
silver. So again in II, ii, 175. 

II, ii, 89. a three-leg'd lord — the meaning is that Young Novall cannot 
independently " stand upon his own legs," but requires the triple support 
of himself, Liladam, and Aymer. 

II, ii, 96. muficke hoiife — a public hall or saloon for musical per- 
formances. 

II, ii, 99-100. ill the Galley foyft, etc. — a Galley-foist was a state barge, 
especially that of the Lord Mayor of London. This, however, can hardly 
be the meaning of the word here, used as it is in connection with Bullion, 
which were trunk-hose, puffed out at the upper part, in several folds ; and 
with Quirpo, a variant of cucrpo — i. e., in undress. " Galley- foist " may 
be the name of some dress of the period, so-called for its resemblance to 
the gaily bedecked Mayor's-barge. But it is not unlikely, as Mason sug- 
gests, that The Galley-foist and The Bullion were the names of taverns of 
that day; or else of houses of public resort for some kind of amusement. 

II, ii, 104. fkip — so in all texts. But Field has elsewhere {Woman is 
a Weathercock, II, i.) : "and then my lord . . . casts a suit every quarter. 



152 THE FATAL DOWRY 

which I slip into." It is probable that the word was the same in both 
passages, — though whether skip or slip I have no means of determining. 

II, ii, 119. St Omers — more properly, 5"/. Omer, a town of northern 
France. A College of Jesuits was located there, and the point of Novall's 
comparison is perhaps an allusion to the mean appearance of Jesuit spies 
who would come from thence to England on some pretext, such as to see 
their friends during the Christmas season. 

II, ii, 122. ly'n perdieu — " to lie perdu " is properly a military term for, 
" to be placed as a sentinel or outpost," especially in an exposed position. 
Ly'n is one of the many obsolete forms of the past participle of the verb 
" to lie." 

II, ii, 125. tye my hand — i. e., tie the ribbon-strings which depended 
from the sleeve over the hand. 

II, ii, 163. flight neglect — contemptuous disrespect. 

II, ii, 174. bile—3.\\ editors after the Q. read boil. Bile was an old 
spelling for boil; but in the other sense, one of the " four humours " of 
medieval physiology, the passage is perfectly clear, and the figure perhaps 
even more effective. 

II, ii, 186. eager relifh — acrid taste. The figure is that the law in itself 
is often like a sharp and bitter flavor, but that a good judge will sweeten 
this. 

II, ii, 250 J. d. Drawes a Cnrtaync — the curtain of the alcove or back- 
stage, within which was placed the " treasure," thus to be revealed. 

II, ii, 298. in which yours — i. e., " because of the fact of her being 
yours." 

II, ii, 301. for poone and worfhleffe I — / for me, like other irregulari- 
ties in pronominal inflection, was not infrequent in Elizabethan times. Cf. 
Abbott, S. G., § 205. 

II, ii, 326. Curtius-like — like Marcus Curtius, legendary hero of ancient 
Rome. See Livy, vii, 6. 

II, ii, final s. d. while the Act is playing — i. e., while the interlude music 
is played, at the close of the Act. 

III, i, 18. relifh — a trace or tinge of some quality, a suggestion. 
— In III, i, 20: a flavor; or, if read with the Q.'s punctuation, a verb: 

give a relish. It appears preferable, however, to take the passage as punc- 
tuated by G., S., which makes relifh a noun. 

Ill, i, 29. take me with you — understand me. 

Ill, i, 2i7- fudden — adv. for suddenly. The -ly suffix was frequently 
omitted in Elizabethan times. 

Ill, i, 45. Such as are faire, etc. — the connection goes back to 1. 42, 
Bellapert taking up again the thread of her remark which Novall's objec- 
tion and her summary answer thereto had broken in upon. 

Ill, i, 120. Chriftian — probably used here in the colloq. sense of : a 
human being, as distinguished from a brute; a "decent" or "respectable" 
person. Cf. Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, I, iii, 89: " Methinks ... I have 
no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has." 



THE FATAL DOWRY 153 

III, i, 122. The entcrtaimcnt of your vifitation—i. e., the entertain- 
ment which your visit received. 

Ill, i, 123. on [old spelling for one]—i. e., a visitation. 

Ill, i, 126. Muske-cat—the civet-cat; applied as a term of contempt to 
a fop, as being a person perfumed with musk. 

Ill, i, 139. there is now f peaks to you—G., S. omit is. at the same time 
clearing the construction and securing a more regular metre. The Q. 
reading, however, is perfectly possible, as an ellipsis, by omission of the 
subject relative, for, there is that now speaks to you [i. e., there is now 
speaking to you], or even, by a change of punctuation, there is— now 
speaks to you — , etc. 

Ill, i, 148. As Caefar, did he Hue, could not except at— see Plutarch's 
Life of Julius Caesar, Chapters 9 & 10, wherein it is narrated how Caesar 
divorced his wife, Pompeia, when scandal assailed her name, although he 
denied any knowledge as to her guilt; "'Because' said he, 'I would have 
the chastity of my wife clear even of suspicion.' " 

III, i, 148. except at — take exception at. 

Ill, i, 159. pointed— M editors after the Q. read painted, an absolutely 
unnecessary and unwarranted emendation. Pointed means " fitted or fur- 
nished with tagged points or laces ;'' " wearing points ;" " laced." Cf . 
Maurice Hewlett's novel, The Queen's Quair, p. 83: "saucy young men, 
trunked, puffed, pointed, trussed and doubleted." Huloet in his Dictionary 
(1552) has: " Poynted, or tyed with poynts, ligulatus." 

Ill, i, 167. This pretty rag—i. e., the " clout " mentioned in II, ii, 123. 

Ill, i, 173. in fpite of — in scorn of, in defiance of. 

Ill, i, 184. thy— so the Q. All later editors read this. It is not impos- 
sible, of course, that Romont should begin an oath " By thy hand," and 
Beaumelle flash back at him " And sword," transferring the thy from her- 
self to him. But Romont would be more likely to swear by his own hand 
than by Beaumelle's. 

Ill, i, 188. caft fuburb whores — prostitutes who had been cashiered 
from service. Houses of ill-fame were customarily located in the suburbs. 

Ill, i, 191. legion — i. e., of evil spirits. Cf. Mark, v, 9. 

Ill, i, 193. home-mad — the word was originally applied to horned 
beasts, in the sense: "enraged so as to horn any one;" hence of persons: 
" stark mad," " mad with rage," " furious." By word-play it acquires its 
sense in the present passage. " mad with rage at having been made a 
cuckold." 

Ill, i, 202. yellow — this color was regarded as a token or symbol of 
jealousy. 

Ill, i, 211. Carted — carried in a cart through the streets, by way of 
punishment or public exposure (especially as the punishment of a bawd). 

Ill, i, 261. ill diftance — within reach, in striking distance. 

Ill, i, 331. as it would tire — as appears to be used for as if; in reality 
the if is implied in the (conditional) subjunctive. — Abbott, S. G., § 107. 

Ill, i, 331. a beadle — it was one of the duties of a beadle to whip petty 
offenders. 



154 THE FATAL DOWRY 

III, i, 352. So I not heard them — -Abbott explains this construction, not 
uncommon in the EHzabethan period, as an omission of the auxiHary verb 
"do" (S. G. § 305). But here the main verb is heard, whereas, according 
to his explanation, grammar w^ould require hear. May not the construc- 
tion be better taken as a simple, though to our ears cumbrous, inversion 
of, So I heard them not? 

Ill, i, 366. caufe — afifair, business — so also in III, i, 2i77- 

III, i, 388. Calenture — a disease incident to sailors within the tropics; 
a burning fever. 

Ill, i, 428-9. flegme . . . choUer — in the old physiologies the predom- 
inance of the " humour, phlegm," was held to cause constitutional indolence 
or apathy, — the predominance of " choler " to cause irascibility. 

Ill, i, 432. 'em — grammatical precision would require him, as is sub- 
stituted in M., f. In Field's rapid, loose style, however, a change of con- 
struction in mid-sentence is not improbable, and the Q. reading may very 
well reproduce accurately what he wrote. 

Ill, i, 441. thou curious impertinent — the epithet is from The Curious 
Impertinent of Cervantes, a story imbedded in Don Quixote, Part I. 

Ill, i, 463. / not accufe — cf. note on 1. 354. 

Ill, i, 467. Ere Hue — Ere I should live is required in full by strict 
grammar, but Field's verse is frequently elliptical. Gifford's emendation 
to lived for the sake of grammatical regularity, which is followed by all 
later editors, is unwarranted. 

Ill, i, 467. mens marginall fingers — the figure is an allusion to the 
ancient custom of placing an index hand in the margin of books, to direct 
the reader's attention to a striking passage. So does Romont picture men's 
fingers pointing to the story of Charalois as a noteworthy and lamentable 
thing. Cf. IV, i, s6. 

III, i, 469-470. An Emperour put away Jiis wife for touching Another 
man^' — The source of this allusion is not apparent. Can it be a perversion 
in the mind of Field of the story of Caesar's divorce of his wife, to which 
Massinger has already referred above (1. 148) ? 

IV, i, 3. a flaxe — the flax wick of a lamp or candle. 

IV, i, 3. a red headed womans chamber — Since early times red-haired 
individuals have been supposed to emit an emanation having a powerful 
sexually exciting influence. In the Romance countries, France and Italy, 
this belief is universally diffused. — I wan Block: The Sexual Life of our 
Time — ^transl. by Eden Paul — p. 622. 

Cf. also Gabrielle D'Annunzio : // Piacere, p. 90: 

'"Have you noticed the armpits of Madame Chrysoloras? Look!'" 

" The Duke di Befifi indicated a dancer, who had upon her brow, white 
as a marble of Luni, a firebrand of red tresses, like a priestess of Alma 
Tadema. Her bodice was fastened on the shoulders by mere ribbons, 
and there were revealed beneath the armpits two luxuriant tufts of red 
hair. 

" Bomminaco began to discourse upon the peculiar odour which red- 
haired women have." 



THE FATAL DOWRY 155 

IV, i, 13. Cell — SO in the Q. and all later texts. Yet the word is utterly 
unsatisfactory to the sense of the passage; it should almost certainly be 
coil — i. e., tumult, confusion, fuss, ado. Cf. Field in Amends for Ladies, 
II, iv : "Here's a coil with a lord and his sister." 

IV, i, 23. a lace — a trimming of lace. 

IV, i, 27. pickadille — the expansive collar fashionable in the early part 
of the seventeenth century. 

IV, i, 27. in puncto — in point ; i. e., in proper condition, in order. 

IV, i, 32. Jacobs ffaffc — an instrument formerly used for measuring 
the altitude of the sun ; a cross-staff. 

IV, i, 32. Ephimerides — a table showing the positions of a heavenly 
body for a series of successive days. 

IV, i, 39-40. if he would but cut the coate according to the cloth ftill — 
" to cut one's coat after one's cloth " was : " to adapt one's self to circum- 
stances ;" " to measure expense by income." The point of its employment 
here is not plain; it is doubtful if anything were very clear in Field's own 
mind, who was merely trying to hit off an epigrammatical phrase. Per- 
haps, " make the coat match the man." 

IV, i, 72. Narciffiis-likc — like Narcissus, in classic myth. See Ovid, 
Meta., iii, 341-510. 

IV, i, 72. fhould — G., f. read shouldst, but the breach of agreement 
between subject and verb is to be explained by the attraction of the verb 
to the third person by the interposed Narciffus-likc ; just as four lines 
further on we find fhouldst for should, because of the similar intrusion 
between subject and verb of {but thy felfe fweetc Lord). 

IV, i, 92. a Barber Surgeon— iormtvXy the barber was also a regular 
practitioner in surgery and dentistry. Cf. Beaumont & Fletcher, The 
Knight of the Burning Pestle, III, iv. 

IV, i, 96. oucrthrowne — M., f. read overflown, i. e., become excessive 
or inordinate ; so full that the contents run over the brim. The reading 
of the Q., however, is quite intelligible, — taking overthrown in the sense 
of thrown too strongly. 

IV, i, 135. Colbran — more properly Colbrand or Collebrand, a wicked 
giant in the medieval romance of Guy of Warwick. He is the champion 
of the invading King of Denmark, who challenges the English King, 
Athelstan, to produce a knight who can vanquish Colbrand, or to yield as 
his vassal. In this hour of need Guy appears, fights with the giant, and 
kills him. 

IV, i, 137. hce'l make fome of you fmoakc, — i. e., " make some of you 
suffer." Cf. Beaumont & Fletcher, The Knight of the Burning Pestle, I, 
ii, 136: "I'll make some of 'em smoke for't;" and Shakespeare, Titus 
Androniciis, IV, iii, III: "Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome." 

IV, i, 138. a Confort — " In the author's age, the taverns were infested 
with itinerant bands of musicians, each of which (jointly and individually) 
was called a noise or consort: these were sometimes invited to play for the 
company, but seem more frequently to have thrust themselves, unasked, 



156 THE FATAL DOWRY 

into it, with an offer of their services : their intrusion was usually prefaced 
with, 'By your leave, gentlemen, will you hear any music?'" — Gifford. 

IV, i, 145. of — formerly sometimes substituted, as here, for on in col- 
loquial usage. So also on for of, as in 1. 148. Cf. also 1. 182. 

IV, i, 197-8. 'tis Fairies treafure Which but rcueal'd brings on the 
blabbers mine. — To confide in any one about a fairy's gift rendered it 
void, according to popular tradition, and drew down the fairy giver's 
anger. In instance, see John Aubrey's Remains (Reprinted in Publica- 
tions of the Folk-Lore Society, vol. IV, p. 102) : " Not far from Sir 
Bennet Hoskyns, there was a labouring man, that rose up early every day 
to go to worke ; who for a good while many dayes together found a nine- 
pence in the way that he went. His wife wondering how he came by so 
much money, was afraid he gott it not honestlye; at last he told her, and 
afterwards he never found any more." 

There are numerous literary allusions to this superstition : e. g., Shake- 
speare, The Winter's Tale, III, iii, 127, ff. : "This is fairy gold, boy; and 
'twill prove so. Up with't, keep it close. . . . We are lucky, boy ; and to be 
so still requires nothing but secrecy." 

And Field himself in Woman is a Weathercock, I, i : 
" I see you labour with some serious thing. 
And think (like fairy's treasure) to reveal it, 
Will cause it vanish." 

IV, i, 210-1. loners peritiry, etc. — that Jove laughed at and overlooked 
lovers' perjuries was a familiar proverb. Cf. Massinger, The Parliament 
of Love, C-G. 192 a: "Jupiter and Venus smile At lovers' perjuries;" and 
Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, II, ii, 92: "at lovers' perjuries. They say, 
Jove laughs." The saying goes back to Ovid's Art of Love, book I ; — as 
Marlowe has translated it : 

" For Jove himself sits in the azure skies, 
And laughs below at lovers' perjuries." 

IV, ii, 71. On all adnantage take thy life — i. e., " Taking every ad- 
vantage of you, kill you." 

IV, ii, 84. Such whofe bloods wrongs, or wrong done to themfelues — 
the Q.'s regular omission of the possessive apostrophe has in this instance 
confused later editors in their understanding of the passage. We would 
write blood's, — with the meaning : " Those whom wrongs to kindred or to 
themselves," etc. 

IV, iii, 12. fo — there is no direct antecedent, but one is easily under- 
standable from the general sense of what precedes ; to be fo — i. e., " as 
you were in thankfulness to the General." 

IV, iv, 10. it — another case of a pronoun with antecedent merely im- 
plied in the general sense of what precedes; it = " the fact that I am not 
worthy the looking on, but only," etc. 

IV, iv, 30. fuch defence — i. e., " the defence of such a one." Such = 
qualis. 

IV, iv, 66. To this — i. e., to tears. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 157 

IV, iv, 70. thofe fam'd matroncs — cf. Massinger in The Virgin Martyr, 
C-G. 22, a : 

" You will rise up with reverence, and no more. 
As things unworthy of your thoughts, remember 
What the canonized Spartan ladies were. 
Which lying Greece so boasts of. Your own matrons, 
Your Roman dames, whose figures you yet keep 
As holy rehcs, in her history 
Will find a second urn : Gracchus' Cornelia, 
Paulina, that in death desired to follow 
Her husband Seneca, nor Brutus' Portia, 
That swallowed burning coals to overtake him, 
Though all their several worths were given to one. 
With this is to be mention'd." 

IV, iv, 112. on it — i. e., "on what you say." 

IV, iv, 156. be — " be " expresses more doubt than " is" after a verb of 
thinking. Cf. Abbott, S. G., § 299. 

V, i, 5. Jay me vp — imprison me. 

V, i, 7. varlets — the name given to city bailiffs or sergeants. Perhaps 
here, however, it is applied merely as a term of abuse. 

V, i, 9. Innes of court man — a member of one of the four Inns of 
Court (The Inner Temple, The Middle Temple, Lincoln's Inn, and Gray's 
Inn). legal societies which served for the Elizabethan the function which 
our law-schools perform to-day. Overbury says of the Inns of Court 
Man, in his Characters: " Hee is distinguished from a scholler by a pair 
of silk-stockings, and a beaver hat, which make him contemn a scholler 
as much as a scholler doth a school-master. . . . He is as far behind a 
courtier in his fashion, as a scholler is behind him. . . . He laughs at every 
man whose band sits not well, or that hath not a faire shoo-tie, and he is 
ashamed to be seen in any mans company that weares not his clothes well. 
His very essence he placeth in his outside. . . . You shall never see him 
melancholy, but when he wants a new suit, or feares a sergeant. . . ." 

V, i, 13. coming forth — appearance in court, or from prison. 

V, i, 28. manchets — small loaves or rolls of the finest wheaten bread. 
There seems to have been a commonplace concerning the huge quantities 
of bread devoured by tailors. Cf. 1. 88 below, and Note. 

V, i, 31. leaiie fwordmen — i. e., swordmen (swaggering ruffians who 
claim the profession of arms) on leave. It is possible, however, that 
leaue is a misprint (by inversion of a letter) for /^an^ = hungry. 

V, i, 83. hangers — not " short-swords ", as in 1. 31, but here " pend- 
ants'*, perhaps a part of the hat-band hanging loose, or else loops or 
straps on the swordbelt, often richly ornamented, from which the sword 
was hung. Cf. Shakespeare, Hamlet, V, ii, 157-167. 

V, i, 83. Hell — a place under a tailor's shop-board, in which shreds or 
pieces of cloth, cut off in the process of cutting clothes, are thrown, and 
looked upon as perquisites. Cf. Overbury's Characters, A Taylor: "Hee 



158 THE FATAL DOWRY 

differeth altogether from God; for with him the best pieces are still 
marked out for damnation, and without hope of recovery shall be cast 
down into hell." 

V, i, 88. Our brcakcfaffs famous for the buttred loaucs — Cf. above 
1. 28, and Note; also Glapthorne's Wit in a Constable, V, i: 
" as easily as a Taylor 
Would do six hot loaves in a morning fasting, 
And yet dine after." 
V, i, 90. vfe a confcicncc — show or feel compunction; be tender- 
hearted. 

V, i, 91. hall — a house or building belonging to a guild or fraternity 
of merchants or tradesmen. At such places the business of the respective 
guilds was transacted; and in some instances they served as the market- 
houses for the sale of the goods of the associated members. 
V, i, 97. cornplcate Mounjieur — perfect gentleman. 
V, i, 102. panto fle — slipper; here used figuratively for: the shoe-maker's 
profession. 

V, ii, 27. a barbarous Sythian — Cf. Purchas' Pilgrimage (ed. 1613, p. 
333) '■ " They [The Scythians] cut off the noses of men, and imprinted 
pictures in the flesh of women, whom they overcame: and generally their 
customes of warre were bloudie : what man soever the Scythian first 
taketh, he drinketh his bloud : he offereth to the King all the heads of the 
men he hath slaine in battell : otherwise he may not share in the spoile : 
the skinnes of their crownes flaid off, they hang at their horse bridles : 
their skinnes they use to flay for napkins and other uses, and some for 
cloathing. . . . These customes were generall to the Scythians of Europe 
and Asia (for which cause S cytharum facinora patrare, grew into a pro- 
verbe of immane crueltie, and their Land was justly called Barbarous)." 
V, ii, 40. made no homes at me — to " make horns" at any one was the 
common method of taunting one with having horns, — i. e., with being a 
cuckold. 

V, ii, 51. made vp with — set with the expression of. 
V, ii, 102. by pieces — in part. 

V, iii, 8. — ^Charmi's speech is addressed to Charalois, as is that of Du 
Croy which follows it. 

V, iii, 18 ff. — M., f. insert when after that of 1. 18. This is probably 
the correct reading. It would be possible, however, to let the line stand 
without alteration, if the that of 1. 20 be taken as coordinate with the that 
of 1. 18, introducing a second clause depending on am forry (instead of 
correlative with fo to introduce a result-clause). With this reading, left 
(1. 22) would be taken as an ellipsis for being left; with the emended 
reading, for was left. Though the construction is in doubt, the sense is 
easy. 

V, iii, 22. vndermine — an object, it, is understood, — i. e., the building 
of my life. 

V, iii, 34. her — its was rare in Elizabethan usage. Cf. Abbott, S. G., 
§§ 228, 229. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 159 

V, iii, 46. compaffion of — former obsolete construction for " com- 
passion for." Cf. Shakespeare, Henry VI, Part I, IV, i, 56; " Mov'd 
with compassion of my country's wreck." 

V, iii, 59. motion — ^C, f. read motion's, — an uncalled-for emendation, 
since ellipsis of is was not infrequent. Cf. Shakespeare, Henry V, IV, i, 
197: " 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill [is] upon his own head." 

V, iii, 93. and yet the fault kept from me — loose construction, not 
easily parsed, though the sense is clear. 

V, iii, 98. As . . . to vndergoe — again a loose construction. It should 
be, properly : That . . . he would undergo, etc. 

V, iii, 107-9. like the fatall gold, etc. — In this passage the two leaders 
of the Gauls known to history by the same name.appear to be confounded 
— (i) : Brennus, who sacked Rome in 390 B. C, and consented to with- 
draw after receiving a large ransom of gold ; — and (2) : Brennus, who 
led the irruption of the Gauls into Greece in the second century B. C., 
and attempted to despoil Delphi of its treasure, but did not succeed in 
doing so. The fact that their respective expeditions are said to have 
borne an immediate sequel of disaster and death for both alike, may be 
responsible for the dramatist's mistake. 

V, iii, 131. homicide — formerly, as here, = murderer. 

V, iii, 139. in way of — in the manner of. 

V, iii, 144. the hate hetweene his hoiifc and mine — cf. Ill, i, 416. 

V, iii, 166. more prefumptions — C, f. read mere presumptions, which 
is probably correct. An alternative possibility should be noted, however: 
that presumptions by mis-reading from the Ms. (or by the mere inversion 
of a u) may be a mis-print for presumptions (presumptuous) ^= presump- 
tive, in which case more would be retained, with the passage to mean: 
"You must find other proofs to strengthen these, and they must, more- 
over, be of a nature to give more reasonable grounds for presumption." 

V, iii, 174-5. — The last two lines of Charalois' speech are addressed to 
his judges; what preceded them to Novall. 

V, iii, 190. bands — the emendation bawds, proposed by Coxeter and 
followed by all subsequent editors, seems almost surely correct. " Bawd " 
prior to 1700 was a term applied to men as well as — and, indeed, more fre- 
quently than — to women. Cf. Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, iii, 130. 

V, iii, 190. tooke — where the common Elizabethan custom of dropping 
the -rn inflectional ending of the past participle rendered a confusion 
with the infinitive liable, the past tense of the verb was used for the 
participle. Cf. Abbott, S. G., § 343. 

V, iii, 193. this matron — i. e., Florimel. 

V, iii, 205. in Nouall — i. e., " in the person of Novall." 

V, iii, 207. Thy challenge now I anfzvere — this phrase would indicate 
that Romont crosses swords with Pontalier, and after a moment of 
fencing runs him through; instead of striking him unawares, as the 
modern stage direction, " Stabs Pontalier," would imply. 

V, iii, 226. thefe — ;. e., Aymer, Florimel, and Bellapert. 



160 THE FATAL DOWRY 

Court. Song, 1. 3. firft — i. e., " in the front part of," to meet the cus- 
tomers and be herself an attraction and an object of display, while the 
husband remains " at tother end " (1. 8) of the store. 

Court. Song, 1. 4. — This is a most unduly long line. It seems probable 
that, in the Ms. from which the play was printed, the three phrases, " A 
faire wife," "a kinde wife," and "a fweet wife," were three variant read- 
ings, which, by mistake, were all incorporated in the text. Any one of 
them used alone would give a perfectly normal line. 



GLOSSARY 

affection, bent, inclination, penchant. I, ii, 2>^. 

allow, command, approve. IV, i, 9. 

anjwere, correspond to. Ill, i, 82. 

arrefts, stoppages, delays. Ill, i, 43. 

author, to be the author, of a statement; to state, declare, say. IV, ii, igl- 

baffled, disgraced, treated with contumely. IV, i, 112. 

balm, an aromatic preparation for embalming the dead. II, i, 79. 

band, a collar or ruff worn round the neck by man or woman. II, ii, 77; 
etc. 

banqucrout, early spelling of bankrupt, which was originally banke rota 
(see N. E. D. for variants under bankrupt), from Italian banco rotta, 
of which banqueroute is the French adaptation. The modern spelling, 
bankrupt, with the second part of the word assimilated to the equivalent 
Latin ruptus, as in abrupt, etc., first appears in 1543. I, i, 127; ii, 88. 

black, a funereal drapery. II, i, 51; ii, 117. 

brabler, a quarrelsome fellow; a brawler. Ill, i, 358. 

braue, in loose sense of approbation, good, excellent, worthy, etc. I, ii, 
256; 292; etc. 

bumfiddles, beats, thumps. IV, i, 140. 

cabinet, a secret receptacle; a jewel-box. II, ii, 34. 

canniball, a strong term of abuse for " blood-thirsty savage." IV, iv, 185. 

Caroch, coach. II, ii, 28; IV, ii, 95. 

cafe, exterior; skin or hide of an animal, or garments — hence, perhaps, 
disguise. V, i, 73. 

cenfure, a judicial sentence. I, ii, 53. — in the sense of sentence to punish- 
ment. II, ii 166; 172. 

chalengc, demand. V, ii, 88. 

change, exchange. Ill, i, 117. — chang'd, I, i, 66. 

charges, expenses. I, ii, 191. 

charitable, benevolent, kindly, showing Christian charity. I, i, 117. 

circumftance, the adjuncts of a fact which make it more or less criminal. 
V, iii, 52. 

clofe, close-fitting. IV, i, 124. 

cold, unimpassioned, deliberate. V, ii, 86. 

coloured, specious. Ill, i, 139. 

comely, becoming, proper, decorous. Ill, i, 163. 

complement, observing of ceremony in social relations; formal civility, 
politeness. Ill, i, 439. 

conference, subject of conversation. II, ii, 139. 

confcious, inwardly sensible of wrong-doing. Ill, i, 353. — aware. V, 
ii, 67. 

161 



162 THE FATAL DOWRY 

confifts, lies, has its place. Ill, i, 489. 

courtefie, generosity, benevolence. V, iii, 73. 

Courtjhip, courteous behavior, courtesy. Ill, i, 276; 439. 

credits, reputations, good name. I, ii, 67. 

ciiriofity, elegance of construction. II, ii, 67. 

curious, careful, studious, solicitous. IV, i, 102. — made with art or care; 

elaborately or beautifully wrought; fine; "nice". Cit. Song. 1. 5. 
dag, a kind of heavy pistol or hand-gun. IV, i, 170 s. d. 
debate, strife, dissension, quarreling. Ill, i, 443. 
decent, becoming, appropriate, fitting. I, ii, 77. 
defeatures, defeats. I, ii, 177. 

demonftraucly, in a manner that indicates clearly or plainly. IV, i, 55. 
deferued, deserving. II, ii, 189. 
determine, decree. II, ii, 172. 

detract, disparage, traduce, speak evil of. I, ii, 271. 
dif-become, misbecome, be unfitting for or unworthy of. V, iii, 47. 
difcouery, revelation, disclosure. Ill, i, 91 ; V, iii, 194. 
diftafte, estrangement, quarrel. IV, ii, i. —offence. V, iii, 15. 
doubtfiill, fearful, apprehensive. IV, ii, 88. 
doubts, apprehensions. Ill, i, 246. 
earth'd, buried. II, i, 126. 

^dify, gain instruction ; profit, in a spiritual sense. IV, i, 62. 
engag'd, obliged, attached by gratitude. Ill, i, 242. 
engender, copulate. Ill, i, 423. 
engine, device, artifice, plot. Ill, i, 157. 
enfignes, signs, tokens, characteristic marks. I, i, 144. 
entertaine, accept. V, ii, 82. 
entertainment, provision for the support of persons in service — especially 

soldiers; pay, wages. I, ii, 188. 
erneft, a sum of money paid as an installment to secure a contract. V, 

i, 44- 
except against, take exception against. IV, iii, 19. 

exhauft, "draw out"; not as to-day, "use up completely." II, i, 103. 
expreffion, designation. V, i, 22- 
factor, one who has the charge and manages the affairs of an estate; a 

bailiff, land-steward. I, ii, 135. Cf. Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part I, 

III, ii, 147: " Percy is but my factor," etc. 
familiar, well acquainted. I, i, 3. 
feares, fears for. IV, ii, 89. 
fit, punish; visit with a fit penalty. Ill, i, 253. 
forefpake, foretold, predicted. Ill, i, 251. 
fortunes, happens, chances, occurs. V, ii, 16. 
gallimaufry, contemptuous term for "a man of many accomplishments"; 

a ridiculous medley; a hodge-podge. II, ii, 95. 
gamefters, those addicted to amorous sport. Ill, i, 2iZ- 
Geometrician, one who measures the earth or land ; a land-surveyor. IV, 

i, 21. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 163 

get, beget. I, ii, 246. 

gigglet, a lewd, wanton woman. Ill, i, 308. 

honeftie, honorable character, in a wide, general sense. To the Elizabethan 
it especially connoted fidelity, trustiness. II, i, II5- 

horflock, a shackle for a horse's feet; hence applied to any hanging lock; 
a padlock. IV, i, 78. 

humanity, learning or literature concerned with human culture: a term 
including the various branches of polite scholarship, as grammar, rhet- 
oric, poetry, and esp. the study of the ancient Latin and Greek classics. 

II, i, 3. 
humour, used here in the specific Jonsonian sense of a dominating trait 

or mood. I, i, 124; ii, 31. 
imployments, services (to a person). I, ii, 28. 
individually, indivisibly, inseparably. II, ii, 316. 
Infanta, the title properly applied to a daughter of the King and Queen 

of Spain or Portugal. IV, i, 75. 
iffues, actions, deeds. II, ii, igS. 

kinde, agreeable, pleasant, winsome. Court. Song. 1. 4. 
Lard, an obsolete form of Lord. IV, i, 2. Cf. Congreve, Old Bach., II, 

iii : " Lard, Cousin, you talk oddly." 
League, probably used for Leaguer (so emended by M., f.) : a military 

camp, especially one engaged in a siege. Ill, i, 175. 
learnd, informed. Ill, i, 156. 
legge, an obeisance made by drawing back one leg and bending the other; 

a bow, scrape. Ill, i, 124. 
liuely, living. II, i, 46. — gay, full of life. II, ii, 76. — life-like. II, 

i, 232. 
map, embodiment, incarnation. II, ii, 136. Cf. H. Smith, Sinf. Man's 

Search, Six Sermons: "What were man if he were once left to him- 

selfe? A map of misery." 
mome, blockhead, dolt, fool. Court. Song, 1. 13. 
monument, sepulchre. I, ii, 212. 

moue, urge, appeal to, make a request to. IV, iv, 11. 
next, shortest, most convenient or direct. V, i, 2i7- 
nice, petty, insignificant, trifling. Ill, i, 442. 
note, show forth ; demonstrate. Ill, i, 504. 
Obiect, bring forward in opposition as an adverse reason, or by way of 

accusation. IV, iv, 174. 
obnoxious, liable, exposed, open, vulnerable. Ill, i, 354. 
obfequious, prompt to serve or please, dutiful. V, iii, 90. 
obf enters, those who show respect, deference, or dutiful attention; ob- 
sequious followers. IV, iv, 43. 
Orphants, obsolete corrupt form of Orphans. I, ii, 206. It survives in 

dialect. Cf. James Whitcomb Riley's Little Orphant Annie. 



164 THE FATAL DOWRY 

ouercomc, usually, " conquer ", " prevail " ; but here, " out-do ", " sur- 
pass ". I, i, 187. 
parts, function, office, business, duty. Formerly used in the plural, as 

here, though usually when referring to a number of persons. I, i, 9; 

ii, 9; V. iii, 39. — qualities. IV, iv, 105. 
pious, used in the arch, sense of dutiful. I, i, loi. 
practicke, practical work or application ; practice as opposed to theory. 

II, i, 2. 
Praecipuce (mis-print for precipice), a precipitate or headlong fall or 

descent, especially to a great depth. Ill, i, 464. 
prefently, immediately, quickly, promptly. IV, iv, 89. 
prefident [variant of precedent], example, instance, illustration. V, iii, 

226. 
preuent, anticipate. I, i, 64; ii, 17; IV, ii, 32. 

Protiince, duty, office, function; branch of the government! I, ii, 23. 
punctual, punctilious, careful of detail. IV, i, 42. 
purl, the pleat or fold of a rufif or band; a frill. II, ii, 77. 
quick, alive. I, ii, 178. 
Ram-heads, cuckolds. II, i, 31. 
recent, fresh. II, i, 19. 

roaring, riotous, bullying, hectoring. IV, i, 203. 
fawcily, formerly a word of more serious reprobation than in modern 

usage : " with presumptuous insolence." I, ii, 106. 
fcandall, to spread scandal concerning; to defame. I, ii, 58. 
feet, class, order. V, i, 79. 
feene, experienced, versed. Ill, i, 268. 
feruant, a professed lover; one who is devoted to the service of a lady. 

II, ii, 40; etc. 
feruice, the devotion of a lover. Ill, i, 81; IV, iv, 107. 
fet forth, adorned. IV, iv, 106. 
skills, signifies, matters. I, i, 286. 
fnort, snore. Court. Song. 1. 12. 
foft, tender-hearted, pitiful. II, i, 23. 

footh'd, assented to; humoured by agreement or concession. V, i, 55. 
Spittle, hospital. Ill, i, 210. Cf. Shakespeare, Henry V, II, i, 78 ; V, i, 86. 
fpleene, caprice. I, i, 49. 

ftate, estate. II, ii, 294; III, i, 24; IV, iv, 178; V, iii, 119. 
ftihmiffe, submissive. I, i, 179. 
take, charm, captivate. I, ii, 206. 

taske, take to task ; censure, reprove, chide, reprehend ^ tax. I, ii, 64. 
temper, temperateness, calmness of mind, self-restraint. V, iii, 40. 
theorique, theory; theoretical knowledge, as opposed to practice. II, i, 2. 
Thrift, here used in the old sense of prosperity or success. I, i, 170. 
toyes, whims, caprices, trifles. Ill, i, 442. 



THE FATAL DOWRY 165 

vncivil, unrefined, ill-bred, not polished. Ill, i, 490. 
vailcs, perquisites. V, i, 83. 
Vifitation, visit. II, ii, 310. 

zmgtaile, a term of familiarity and contempt; a wanton. II, ii, 7. 
where, whereas. I, i, 71. 

wittoll, a man who knows of his wife's infidelity and submits to it; a sub- 
missive cuckold. V, iii, 99. 
wreake, vengeance, revenge. IV, iv, 183 ; V, ii, 43. 



BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 

The Quarto, and the various modern editions and translations 
of The Fatal Dowry have already been recorded in the opening 
pages of the Introduction. In the editions there noted of the 
collected works of Massinger will be found all the plays which 
bear his name. {Believe As You List appears only in Cunning- 
ham's edition of Gifford and in the Mermaid Series' Massinger.) 
Field's two independent plays, Woman is a Weathercock (Q. 
1612) and Amends for Ladies (Q's. 1618, 1639), were reprinted 
by J. P. Collier, London, 1829. They are included in Thomas 
White's Old English Dramas, London, 1830; in W. C. Hazlitt's 
edition of Dodsley's Old English Plays, London, Reeves and 
Turner, 1875 > ^^^ ^^ ^he Mermaid Series volume, Nero and 
Other Plays, with an Introduction by A. W. Verity, London and 
New York, 1888. All other extant dramas in which either Mas- 
singer or Field had a share may be found in any edition of the 
collected works of Beaumont & Fletcher, with the exception of 
Sir John van Olden Barnavelt, which appears in vol. II of Bullen's 
Old Plays, London, Weyman and Sons, 1883. 

The stage version of The Fatal Dozvry by Sheil is printed in 
French's Acting Edition, vol. 9. Of the related plays. The 
Lady's Trial and The Fair Penitent may be found in all editions 
of the collected works respectively of John Ford and Nicholas 
Rowe ; The Fair Penitent is also published along with Rowe's 
Jane Shore in the Belles Lettres Series, 1907. For The In- 
solvent, see The Dramatic Works of Aaron Hill, Esq., 2 vols., 
1760. DER GRAF VON CHAROLAIS ein Trauerspiel von 
Richard Beer-Hofmann is printed by S. Fischer, Berlin, 1906. 

The following works have bearing upon the play or its authors : 
Beck, C: Phil. Massinger, THE FATALL DOWRY. Einlei- 

tung su einer neiien Ausgabe. Beyreuth, 1906. 
Boyle, R. : Beaumont, Fletcher and Massinger. Englische Stu- 

dien, vol. V. 
Cambridge History of English Literature, The, — vol. VI. 

Cambridge, 1910. 
Courthope, W. J. : A History of English Poetry, vol. IV. Mac- 

millan, 1903. 

166 



THE FATAL DOWRY 167 

Cumberland : His famous comparison of The Fatal Doivry with 
TJic Fair Penitent, which originally appeared in The Observer, 
Nos. LXXVII-LXXIX, is reprinted in Gifford's Edition of 
Massinger. 

Dictionary of National Biography — Field, by J. Knight ; 
Massinger, by R. Boyle. 

Fleay, F. G. : A Biographical Chronicle of the English Drama 
{1559-1642). 2 vols. London. Reeves and Turner. 1891. 
Annals of the Career of Nathaniel Field. Englische Studien, 
vol. XIII. 

Genest, John : Some Account of the English Stage from the 
Restoration in 1660 to iS^o. 10 vols. Bath, 1832. 

Gosse, E. W. : The Jacobean Poets. (Univ. Series). Scribner's, 
1894. 

Koeppel, E. : Onclenstudicn zii den Dramen George Chapman's, 
Philip Massingcr's und John Ford's. Strassburg. 1897. 

Murray, John Tucker: English Dramatic Companies (1338- 
1642). 2 vols. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1910. 

Oliphant, E. F. : The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher. Eng- 
lische Studien, vols. XIV-XVI. [This is not concerned with 
The Fatal Dowry, but contains inquiry into other collaboration 
work of Massinger and Field in plays of the period, with an 
analysis of the distinctive characteristics of Massinger (XIV, 
71-6) and the same for Field (XV, 330-1).] 

Phelan, James : On Philip Massinger. Halle. 1878. Reprinted 
in Anglia, vol. II, 1879. 

Schelling, F. E. : Elizabethan Drama. 2 vols. Houghton, Mifflin 
& Co. 1908. 

Schwarz, F. H. : Nicholas Roive's FAIR PENITENT. A Con- 
tribution to Literary Analysis. With a Side-reference to Rich- 
ard Bccr-Hofmann's Graf von Charolais. Berne. 1907. 

Stephens, Sir Leslie : Philip Massinger. The Cornhill Magazine. 
Reprinted in Hours in a Library, Third Series. 1879. 

Swinburne. A. C. : Philip Massinger. The Fortnightly Review. 
July, 1889. 

Thorndike, Ashley H. : Tragedy. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1908. 

Ward, A. W. : A History of English Dramatic Literature. 3 
vols. Macmillan. 1899. 

Wurzbach, W. von : Philip Massinger. Shakesp. Jahrb., vols. 
XXXV and XXXVI. 



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